Shadowshield
by Sylva Knight
Summary: When players from this world find themselves in Azeroth they are forced to make decisions about betrayal and loyalty, death and life, and the darkness they find within themselves. A Tale of the Rising. Pre-Cataclysm.
1. Homecoming

Footsteps echoed through the empty courtyard, dusting the dry stones of their silence. For those who didn't know better, the person stepping through the ruins might have still been at the world's end, battling through darkness and solitude, and to be true the eyes that glanced up at the stars where as expressionless and weary as their surroundings. But the owner of the eyes knew better. She knew she was finally home.

The horse she led snorted as they moved over a bridge and into a more enclosed section of the ruins. The deeper they went, the less the place felt like an abandoned city and more and more like a tomb. Unlit candles stood stiff and straight in sconces on the walls, watching silently as they passed. The horse slowed to traverse another set of stairs and then they saw the first living beings. There was a stench of decay about them, and the full armor they wore could not hide all of the rotting flesh and bones that were visible through the tattered shirts. She did not recoil at them, only moved forward to stand between the guards and face the wall. It slid open almost instantly and she entered the lift, exiting into the most eerie of cities to ever exist.

Undercity was as full of life as the ruins above had been devoid of it, but the life was faded, almost mocking, and filled with malice. The citizenship that pulsed in it's caverns moved with a sense purpose, not of hope or nobility, but of resentment and hatred. Power coated the walls, but also helplessness, for the population was cursed to only live a shadow of their former lives. Whispers followed her as she pushed through the crowds, figures parted as she led the horse carefully down steep stairs, heading deeper and deeper into the city. Her reception was varied; most ignored her, some glared, their dislike for her unsullied skin plain. Many stared, for her clothes were as tattered as theirs, a slowly healing cut on her face still burned an angry red, and the horse she led was real, living flesh. Their murmurs followed her even as she neared the Royal Quarter.

A nearby guard looked affronted as she passed the reins to him and continued without hesitation down the tunnel. The darkness was especially thick here and the smothering sensation grew strong before lifting abruptly. She had come to the lowest bowels of Undercity. The low murmur of conversation in the chamber did not break as she entered silently and slowly ascended the steps of the central dais. Only when she reached the top did those nearby turn in her direction. Taking two steps forward, she knelt and held out that which had been the object of her search for the past eight months.

Lady Sylvanas Windrunner took the pendant from her hands and lifted it to her face, examining it closely, then passed it to one of the forsaken behind her. "Thank you, Jalyria Dawnwaker. You've done well yet again."

Dawnwaker stood silently and raised her head. "My Lady."

Sylvanas motioned to the side and the blood elf turned to find the treasurer and claim her reward. These things done, the quest was finally over.

Her pace back up the tunnel was much slower than her descent, and she took the reins of the horse back without so much as a look at the guard. Thankfully the crowd remained sparse as she neared the Rogue's Quarter and turned into one of the small alcoves that led off the main cavern. A dark figure detached itself from the wall and took one step toward her, then called down the corridor: "She returns! Dawnwaker returns!"

Immediately there was a buzz of activity from further within the recess, and a large stone slid aside, hiding its carving of a shield and dagger and revealing a lighted doorway. Dawnwaker stepped through and finally felt rest. Beings of all races crowded to greet her, a blood elf took the reins of the horse as her packs were stripped off and carried in the direction of her quarters by a large orc. An undead took her arm and cleared a way through the crowd so that she could follow, and the next few moments found her in her quarters, sitting on the side of her bed and just breathing. The undead stood a little apart, regarding her carefully and not speaking until she did.

"You seem to have prospered in my absence, Gether."

He did not move, the stillness of his lifeless body match only by the walls around them. Dawnwaker swayed slightly on the bed and let her eyes wander to the hangings on the walls, the largest emblazoned with the the shield and dagger.

"The guild is thriving. Thank you for taking care of it."

The undead finally relaxed. "Thank you, Captain. But Shadowshield has eagerly awaited your return."

Her gaze returned to the floor, eyes blank. "It was a long journey."

Gether made no comment. He knew his captain had journeyed far, even across the Great Sea to the lands of Kalimdor on this latest quest, and he knew that she would speak of her travels when she was rested. Now was not the time for such recounts. After a few more moments of silence she lifted a hand to unlatch her armor and he moved quickly to help her, setting each piece in a neat pile by the door to be taken and repaired. She gasped as he took the breastplate and he was quick to notice the seeping red that stained it and the shirt underneath. Quickly setting the armor aside, he knelt to unfasten her boots so she wouldn't have to bend.

"A healer has already been sent for, Captain." The way she moved when she first appeared had been enough to send the message. She simply nodded and he took the boots, gathering up the rest of the armor as well and turning to face the door. A voice echoed outside.

"...to be roused from my bed at such an hour, only to be dragged into a den of thieves and assassins..." The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway, obviously hastily roused but still in fine robes and carrying an impressive staff. "...roguish ingrates who insist on sneaking around, spilling as much blood as possible. I don't care if it is Shadowshield's guild master-" She broke off as her eyes fell on the blood elf slouched on the bed and the fresh blood mixed with the old, but the exasperation did not leave her voice.

"Sun's fire, Jal, what did you do to yourself this time?"

The hint of a smile touched Dawnstrider's lips as she raised her head to the newcomer.

"Ah, Jeneira, late as always..."

"It wasn't enough to wake me when we were younger, you insist on disturbing my sleep even now! The gall. If I weren't your cousin I would walk out of this room right now. You know you are very lucky that I even happened to be in Undercity today."

Dawnstrider gave a tight smile and allowed her to examine the cut in her side, even as the priest continued to mutter her opinions about poorly applied bandages and insufficient anti-venoms. One hour and many instructions later she was gone, and the sleep that had eluded the blood elf for so long finally came as the pain ebbed away.

For two days she rested, submitting to more examinations by her cousin and offering Gether whatever advice he wanted concerning the guild. She may have been guild master in title, but he was the true strength behind the functioning of the coalition of thieves and assassins. His skills in administration far outmatched hers, but he would not accept the title, insisting that her skill and her position as founder made it necessary for her to be the head of Shadowshield, if only for appearances. When she had first issued the order that he would undertake no quests that would send him far away, he had been resentful, but had later understood when she returned from her first one. She remembered the moment well, her lying half-dead on blood-soaked flagstones and him kneeling at her head while the healers worked.

"It's not like the game, is it?"

She had managed to croak out a whispered "no."

"We can't heal as easily, everything takes longer..."

But the real realization had hit them when the body was brought back. A younger one of their members, less experienced, had been sent out into the Hinterlands. Months later an envoy had come from Aerie Peak and met them just beyond the Bulwark. As the chief messenger handed the body over she had looked in his eyes and known instantly; he had once been a player as well. One could always tell by the eyes. And Gether had stared at the body and whispered what they were all thinking. "There are no respawns..."

Word had spread, out from them and in from elsewhere, and the population of the cities had exploded as players-known by the rest of the population as _endhi_-sought the safety of numbers and stone walls. Areas they had once known as dungeons lay empty and deserted, abandoned to their denizens, as no one dared to brave them, even in large groups. But the brave, the bored, the few who were willing to face death still rode abroad on the lands, taking quests from those who could pay enough for their lives. Shadowshield had become known for this, and though the Forsaken frowned whenever they sheltered a human or a dwarf who inexplicably saw the need to travel through Tirisfal Glades, they allowed this and did not object.

So Gether stayed in the city and kept the guild together, and Dawnwaker led those who wished out into the wild, terrifying world. But this last venture had been hard, and she relished the chance to once again busy herself with the guild and those in it, in the safety of the city. But two days was all she seemed allowed, for her wound had not completely healed before the cry came down of the impossible.

"Undercity is under attack!"


	2. Defensive Maneuvers

Dawnwaker looked up sharply from the long knife she had been examining as the messenger flew through the door, flanked by two of her lieutenants.

"Yes?"

The undead was gasping for air-that always struck her as odd-but he managed a proper salute and croaked out, "Captain Dawnwaker. Undercity is under attack. The Dark Lady requests all guilds..." He did not get a chance to continue as she began snapping orders and her officers vanished down halls to see them out. With a flick of her wrist she motioned for the messenger to follow her as she hurried to her chambers and began pulling on armor.

"Who are they and how many?"

"_Endhi_, my lady, of Alliance races. Perhaps fifty, though we haven't been able to get a clear count..."

"Mounted?"

"No."

Dawnwaker pulled the second leather gauntlet firmly over her hand and pulled one of her daggers out of its sheath as she left the room, eyeing its blade.

"Where are they now?"

"They appeared near the Apothecarium and seem headed for the Royal Quarter-"

She cursed, interrupting him, and grabbed one of Gether's spaulders as he rushed by her.

"It's a raid."

"What?"

"It's a raid. A large group of Alliance _endhi_, headed for the Royal Quarter. It's a raid. They're here to kill Sylvanas."

Gether's face went whiter than his usual pallor. "But...how..."

Her voice grew louder and angrier as she bent over two small scrolls, pen scribbling over them as fast as she could drive it. "Either they haven't heard about the finality of death in this world, or they've heard and paid no attention. A raid like this is complete idiocy-Heert! Get this to General Raxfician. And Thent, this goes to Magus Worderly."

The orc and the forsaken snatched the missives from her hands and ran immediately, heading in the directions of the War Quarter and Magic Quarter. She whirled back to face the messenger.

"Spread the word that these invaders are to be captured alive, not killed. Understand?"

"Yes, Captain Dawnwaker, but who-"

"I doubt you can reach Bloodfist now, so just tell whoever you see. Run!" The messenger turned and ran as if from a rapidly spreading pool of Blackrock lava. Gether watched anxiously as his Captain muttered to herself as they moved out of the tunnels and into the main cavern of the Rogue's Quarter. All of Shadowshield was assembled there, weapons at the ready. She glanced over them and pointed to four.

"These invaders left their mounts outside the city. Go deal with them." The four left. She raised her voice to inform the remaining gathered, about forty beings.

"These are _endhi_, like you and I. They come with the purpose of killing Sylvanas. Our goal is to take them alive. They have already penetrated the Royal Quarter. We will slip in unnoticed and deal with the healers first. That will be myself and the officers. The rest will provide backup and protection for our own healers, and behind them will come the heavier classes. Go."

The guild moved out, entering the canals silently with Dawnwaker in the lead, Gether and her other lieutenants at her elbows. What druid healers were in the city had moved silently forward to join the rogues in the shadows, and the others from the Magic Quarter were coming up behind. The city was disturbingly quiet, for all the citizenship had retreated into their darkest holes and any soldiers were dead. She stepped carefully over another body, eyes fixed on the dark entrance to the deeper parts of Undercity. Reaching it, she glanced in carefully and moved forward; the Alliance force had not even left their own guards in place of the ones they had slaughtered. Her rogues spread out down the long passageway and slipped silently into the large chamber, one by one, with the other guilds waiting out of sight in the tunnel.

She breathed a small sigh of relief when she saw Sylvanas alive, standing tall on the dais and looking far grander than the rabble scattered below her. Bragor Bloodfist was there too, stripped of his weapons, along with a few others, but looking around, there were far too many bodies on the ground. The healers were easy to spot, faint glows of green and gold marking them as they worked over the wounds their charges had received on the way in. Everyone else was standing captivated at the conversation on the dais. Their leader, a human warrior, had the leader of Undercity at blade point, and he was reveling in it. His loud words of triumph did not hold Dawnwaker's interest, and she gave a small signal. Silently they stepped near the healers, her choosing one in the middle. And at one more signal they sprang.

She came from behind, dagger out and pressing into the throat of the human paladin as the target choked in panic. The motion was duplicated around her and within seconds each healer of the Alliance party was restrained and under threat of death. At first their leader did not notice, but the direction of Sylvanas' eyes gave him pause and made him turn. Dawnwaker had hoped that he might drop his sword in astonishment, but he only gripped it tighter, staring straight at the girl she was holding. She allowed a small feeling of satisfaction to steal through her; she had in fact chosen the chief healer of the group.

"Drop your weapons."

They only stared, and she could tell the leader was very close to desperately turning and running Sylvanas through while he had the chance.

"If any harm come to our Dark Lady, you will not see these again." She pressed her blade harder against the girl's throat, extracting another gasp. The warrior's jaw worked. Of course she would not kill an _endhi_ but he did not know that. After another moment she had had enough. One tap with her foot gave the signal and the room began to fill with the residents of Undercity. Warriors from Bladebite, paladins from Aurblaze, mages from Arcaforce, and warlocks from Nightflux all stared at the Alliance party, weapons and spells at the ready. A few hunters, shamans, druids, and priests also peppered the room. The human warrior looked around from the dais and Dawnwaker felt like screaming at him. Finally he cursed loudly and threw his sword on the ground. Bloodfist quickly snatched it, as did the nearest Horde members when other weapons fell near them.

Dawnwaker took her knife from the girl's throat and wiped the blade clean on the paladin's shirt before binding her hands quickly and shoving her forward into the crowd. Sylvanas' voice echoed loud and clear around the chamber.

"Bind these invaders and hold them. We'll find out exactly who is responsible." The look she gave the warrior as Bloodfist handed him off to his new jailor would have shriveled a lesser man's flesh. He turned his head away quickly and stumbled along with the mass of captives toward the dungeon. Dawnwaker watched them go, then joined Sylvanas with the other guild masters at her summons.

"Thank you all for saving my life." Her mouth twisted at the words. "You will perform the interrogations. I understand these are all _endhi_, like yourselves?" They all nodded. She smiled and then proceeded to tell them which of the intruders each of them would question. "When you are finished, I want all of you to return here with suggestions as to their future. I will not have them within my walls."

"We understand, my lady." General Raxfician's voice rumbled through the cavern. Dawnwaker could tell the orcish guild master of Bladebite would carry out these orders most eagerly. Sylvanas dismissed them all with a nod, eyes holding the rogue's a little longer than the others. They turned and left quickly. Gether met her on the way to the hall.

"Begin gathering provisions. We may have a journey ahead of us."

"For how many, Captain?"

"All of us."

"All...?"

"Yes. Did we find their mounts?"

"Yes, Burnstride is with some of Ganis' people, holding them above in the ruins."

She nodded. The paladins of Aurblaze knew their horseflesh. Clapping Gether on the shoulder she started off down the passage.

"Remember, provisions. Tell Shadowshield to be ready to move."

He stood still, watching her go, but she had no doubt that he would follow her orders. Gether could always be counted on. For now her concentration would be on another subject: the human warrior who had led his rabble down into her city. She ignored the pain in her side as she descended the many stairs to the dungeons and found the correct cell. The guard outside it nodded and threw the bolt open. One deep breath was all she had before she ducked through the low door to enter the prison.


	3. Interrogation

The man stared at her with a defiance that seemed more like a teenager's pout than a warrior's insolence. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and regarded him for a moment. He was the first to break the silence.

"Well? What do you want?"

"If I were you, I would be more respectful. I may have left my weapons outside, but that doesn't mean-" Here she stepped forward and drove a fist into his gut- "that I won't hurt you."

The man grunted as the blow threw his back to the wall, fists clenching uselessly in their shackles as he strove against his chains. She stepped back and gave him a withering look. He clenched his jaw and didn't speak as she walked the small length of the cell at a leisurely pace. His patience did not outlast hers, however. Spit hit the dust at her feet. She whirled at combat speed and grasped his throat, throwing him back to the wall once again.

"Do not test me! Idiot!"

"And why am I an idiot? Because I'm the only one brave enough to lead my people out of the city while everyone else cowers in the auction house?

She stood back now and looked over him more carefully, eyes traveling from the scruffy hair and unshaven jaw to the filthy shirt and pants that were all he was left with once his armor was taken from him. With a sigh, she began.

"What's your name?"

He glared at her, but he answered. "General Hunter." She knew the surprise showed on her carefully trained face and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Hunter?" she managed to gasp out between breaths. "Why-heh-would you name-hah!-a warrior 'Hunter'?"

His face was very angry now. "It's just what they call me!"

"And-" She almost had herself under control now- "What is your real name? What is Hunter short for?"

His eyes met the floor and he muttered something unintelligible.

"What? Speak up!"

"It's short for Ihuntdruids." He said the words all together, and she restrained her laughter, but left the incredulous smirk on her mouth.

"Well that explains a lot."

His eyes shot daggers. She regained her composure and folded her arms again.

"Who sent you?"

"No one sent us. I'm the guild master; everyone follows my orders."

"So you were not on a mission from the Alliance? This trip of yours was not made with the blessing or under orders from their leaders?"

"I doubt they even know we're gone. It's not like we told anyone."

Dawnwaker allowed herself an inward sigh of relief. Perhaps this situation could be salvaged, and an all-out war prevented.

"What guild are you, then?"

"Knights of Stormwind."

"That's creative."

He didn't respond. She lowered her head to meet his eyes.

"So you, General Hunter, guild master of Knights of Stormwind, woke up one morning and decided you and your friends would go kill yourselves a banshee queen."

He raised his eyes to meet hers for a brief moment. "Yeah."

"Like I said, an idiot." She could almost feel the retort rising in his throat and so lost her cool once again. For the second time she clenched her hand around his throat and gritted her teeth inches from his face.

"And how long did this journey take you, General? Weeks? Months? Did your people and their mounts grow tired? Hungry? When one of you were wounded, your healers had to help them along until such a time when they could rest to be fully healed, yes?" Her hand convulsed and she let him go. "You blindly marched your ragtag guild into a Horde city and so risked every single one of their lives! Have you or have you not heard of what death does to us in this world?"

He stared at her blankly.

"ANSWER ME!"

"I...yes, we heard of it...but it was only rumors-"

"And why are your cities so full? Why all the people sheltering there? It's because if they venture out into the wild beyond and happen to run into a wolf, or a bandit gets the drop on them, then they are dead. And they don't come back. Dead, and there is no returning."

"Maybe...maybe they wake up back in-"

"No. We were told that at the Rising. There is no going back."

His mouth twisted and she seized on the moment.

"You want to go back, huh? Liked it better there, being a general in a game instead of a general in reality? Well it's been tried, and more than a year has gone by. We're not getting back. Accept that."

She began pacing again. "You should accept too, that this is not like the game. Here you can't travel from Stormwind to Undercity in a matter of minutes or hours. You can't go without eating. You get tired, your armor gets dirty, your sword grows dull. When you die, you are dead. But you ignore all of this and take your guild straight into the heart of a hostile city, fooling yourself into thinking that you'll all come out alive and be hailed heroes for assassinating a leader of the Horde. If I hadn't been here you might have all been dead at this point. General Raxfician is master of the warriors guild Bladebite, and _endhi_ though he is, he and his men would have carved through your ranks like so much soft mutton. None of the other guilds would have shown equal mercy I'm sure. You should be groveling at my feet in gratitude right now."

But even such a tirade could not shock this man into silence.

"_Endhi_?"

She studied him once more and answered in a softer tone. "People like you and I, who had a life before the Rising, when this whole world was just another part of our imagination. Before we were swallowed by it." She stepped back to the door and knocked twice. The guard opened it. The rogue turned and looked back at the warrior, who was now sagging in his chains, the petty charade of defiance gone.

"Welcome to Azeroth, Hunter. I'm sorry it's not the world you thought it was."

The guard let her exit and the bolt fell over the door with a bang.


	4. Departure

The buzz of noise in the Royal Quarter was deafening, and though the city's leader and guild masters had gathered in the inner chamber the noise was not diminished. The hum grew as more voices joined the debate, and before ten minutes were over the only silent ones were the two on the perimeter of the argument. Sylvanas and Dawnwaker stood leaning against the wall, the queen fingering her bow and the rogue examining the blade of her dagger. As the noise reached a crescendo, Sylvanas spoke softly.

"Tell me again why these _endhi_ lives are worth so much."

Dawnwaker breathed in slowly, shoved the dagger in its sheath, and folded her arms.

"They are people, my lady. Lives should not be destroyed so wantonly."

"Had they been a company of King Varian's soldiers you would have not hesitated to cut them all down yourself. How are the _endhi_ any different? And don't tell me it's because you are one. I know you are above such prejudice."

The rogue hesitated. Just after the Rising, when the _endhi_ were rediscovering this world, they had viewed the common residents as possessing of limited intelligence and no feeling and had treated them accordingly. They viewed themselves as the only "real" beings in a fantastical world, but the natives soon proved them wrong. No battles were fought, but many _endhi_ were killed before the rest realized that all of the natives had lives and histories as deep as any of theirs. Things settled quickly, too, as death was recognized as death and the cities filled with former "explorers" and "adventurers" seeking safety. Due to Undercity's proximity to the Plaguelands, many hardened _endhi_ found their way there, and guilds were formed under the supervision of Lady Sylvanas. Tension between the _endhi_ and the original populace had been great at first, but as the citizenry were treated well they soon began to return in kind. By now the _endhi _were just a strange breed of being, with a history that did not span two years in this world. So why was she so eager to see these raiders from the Alliance live?

"I know that their lives are not worth more than any citizen's here. I know that they deserve to die for the death they have already caused. But my lady, had King Varian sent soldiers, those soldiers would have known what they were marching into. They would have seen death waiting for them, and would have gone in willingly, and the king would have known he was sending them to that. These people, because they are _endhi_, did not know what they were doing. Rather than embarking on a quest because of duty and need, they came because of false pride, and stupidity. They simply followed their leader, who is a thick-headed man with no sense of the value life has here. Were they _endhi_ who knew they were rushing to their deaths, I would defend this city well and slaughter them. But they are ignorant, and I cannot in good conscience plot the deaths of those who don't know that they have asked for it."

Sylvanas nodded slowly, evidently pleased with her answer. "You are certain, then about the offer you made?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then I deem your plan good. PEOPLE!" Her voice rang around the chamber and all other conversation ceased quite suddenly. "My decision has been made and all under my rule will abide by it. Hear me now.

"These members of the Alliance are to be returned to their own land in exchange for several high-ranking members of the Horde who have been held in captivity. Upon this meeting's adjournment, I will send a message to the king in Stormwind City to arrange the exchange. You will use this time to prepare for each guild's task. Shadowshield will accompany the prisoners on this journey and protect them."

All eyes turned to Dawnwaker, who met them steadily.

"A company of the guard will accompany them as support. Bloodfist, you will see to this assignment. These should be guards of high caliber, as they will have a long journey to return home and may not have the support of Shadowshield on the way back."

A murmur began to build in the crowd, but Sylvanas continued and raised her voice.

"I am also requesting that each guild consider sending some of it's members on this journey as well, especially you Raxfician and Ganis."

The warrior and the paladin nodded slowly.

"Your primary duties at this point will be to remain and protect Undercity from further attack, so I would not suggest sending too many of your people away. Worderly, all of your mages are to remain here. Your portal magic is needed for another purpose."

The mage nodded, clearly knowing what the queen was speaking of. The rest knew better than to ask.

"As for the rest, warlocks, priests, and the like, you are free to choose. I will be sending missives out into the city in case any would like to travel with the departing company. Plans for provisions will be made through the Royal Treasury. Dismissed."

The group of guild masters had not taken three steps out of the Royal Quarter when the words began. Dawnwaker had known this would happen; it was part of inner-city politics, and part of being a guild master. Still, she usually avoided it by simply being elsewhere. Gether was much more suited to politics than she was, and she was more than willing to let him take over that duty of an administrator. Unfortunately now he was nowhere near and she was surrounded by leaders who obviously had no intention of scattering off to their respective quarters before saying their piece. She tried not to groan. Worderly, of course, started it all.

"So, Captain Dawnwaker, your entire band of rogues is traipsing off to who knows where and not coming back? Leaving Undercity for good?"

She turned a cool head in the mage's direction and failed in her attempt to speak politely. "And what business of it is yours, Worderly? Or are you just so glad to see us go?"

Worderly could not keep up his mocking tone and his face grew angry, rotting flesh stretching over bone. "Of course I'm glad to see your filth out of here. Your blasted guild is the largest in Undercity and it's full of thieves and assassins, plotting a coup in all likelihood. Any city would be glad to see you go."

She stopped and faced him fully. "First, my guild is not the largest. That would be Raxfician's Bladbite. And second, Shadowshield has done as much or more than Arcaforce to protect and prosper Undercity. What have the mages done to make themselves better than us?"

"Perhaps you could tell us, Worderly," Raxfician's deep voice cut in as the orc put himself between the two. "What is this assignment that takes all of your mages away from their normal duties?"

Worderly recoiled a little at that and Dawnwaker hid the smirk of satisfaction that was attempting to rise to the surface. Raxfician nearly always took her side in these things and it was no secret that the warrior scared the mage silly. One could practically see the rest of his flesh shriveling off before the stern gaze of Bladebite's guild master.

"I...that is private. And sanctioned by the Lady Sylvanas herself. Do not question me!"

The other masters were plainly amused at the sudden quiver in Worderly's voice, and they dismissed him easily enough and began discussing the details of the forthcoming journey of Shadowshield. Dawnwaker spoke sparingly, keeping an eye on the mage. Raxfician may have quelled him in the moment, but he was not to be cast aside. His dislike for Shadowshield in general and herself in particular was sure to manifest itself again.

"I can send two squads of warriors with you, Dawnwaker. I wish I could do more, but even that stretches me thin-"

"You're very generous Raxfician. Don't send more warriors than you can spare. We aren't going for a show of force here."

"I'll send two squads as well, one for protection and another for restoration."

"Thank you Ganis, but if you can spare them, I would take two restoration squads. We're a bit short on healers right now."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

"Well at least _I'm_ not required to send any of my mages on this fool's errand," Worderly sniffed imperiously. "Why the queen even decided on this is beyond me, though I must assume she was helped along to that decision." Here his accusatory gaze turned significantly to Dawnwaker.

Raxfician made a move as if to speak, but the rogue held up her hand. "You have made your position on this clear, Worderly. As you obviously have no desire to be involved with this 'fool's errand,' please feel free to get back to your important business with all haste. We wouldn't want to bore you with our petty plans. Please. Don't let us keep you from your grand schemes."

Worderly knew a dismissal when he heard one. With one more nasty look he turned with a flash of robes and began walking away down the stone causeway by the canal before being stopped short by her voice once again.

"Oh and Worderly? If you see High Priestess Tharin, please let her know that I would greatly appreciate any healers who would be willing to accompany us."

The mage made no acknowledgment and turned away once more.

"If I were you, I'd send a more eager messenger. He has no love for you, and you aren't helping that situation much."

Dawnwaker turned to the owner of the slippery voice, Lord Selendral, guild master of Nightflux.

"If you would like to deliver my message, feel free. But I will reply to him in whatever tone he speaks to me."

Selendral's jaw tightened and he gave a short nod before turning on his heel and heading off after the mage. Dawnwaker turned back to the remaining masters, all good humor now completely gone. She began to speak, but Raxfician held up a hand.

"We know, he started it. But you have more important things to focus on. We'll send over our squads as soon as they're ready."

"Thank you, Raxfician. And you, Ganis."

The warrior and the paladin nodded and left, leaving her standing alone in the causeway. She allowed her eyes to rest on the glowing green fluid in the canals for a brief moment of peace before Gether found her.

"Captain, the quartermaster is here to discuss supplies for the journey."

And with a sigh she turned to attend to her duties.

* * *

"The formation will be as such. We are focusing on defense, both internal and external."

Five heads bent over the parchment to follow her fingers as Dawnwaker traced the lines.

"The prisoners in the center, three by three. We won't shackle their feet, only their hands. We don't want them to escape, but I'd rather that than have them unable to run for their lives from raiders. Hopefully they won't be stupid enough to attempt a run into a beast-filled wilderness with their hands tied."

She raised her head to look her lieutenant in the eye. "Gether, you will coordinate the rogues. I want no more than half of us to be visible at a time. The rest will spread out wider and serve as flanking guard, rear guard, and scouts. We're to be a surprise for anyone who might attack us."

She turned to the warrior next. "Kentosh, you'll spread your warriors out as best you see fit, but do note that I'd like at least two up near the front with me and two back with the healers. You'll work with Guard Drayson-" here she nodded to the Sylvanas' representative- "to decide on the rest of the positions. Any fighters from the city that wish to join us will be under you as well.

"Glandren, I want two of yours with me, and rest with the healers. You'll also be over any healers that decide to come along. Lil'lik, you will work with him." The paladin and priest both nodded.

"Now the pack animals and spare mounts will be here, and will be kept well away from the prisoners..."

And so the days slipped by. Mounts were gathered and made ready, provisions were stockpiled, and maps were studied from every angle. At last all was in readiness and officers of the journey were called into Sylvanas' presence once more. This time, however, the confidence on their faces melted away at the fury in hers. Only Dawnwaker was close enough to hear what she muttered through clenched teeth.

"King Varian is a thickheaded fool." She glanced at the rogue. "He's planning something; he must be. Take this." The queen thrust a small amulet into her hand. "That will allow us to contact each other. If you discover anything, you know."

Dawnwaker closed her fist around the trinket and nodded once as the Dark Lady turned to address the gathered company.

"After much negotiation, King Varian of Stormwind has agreed to the exchange. However he has not agreed to an exchange in the Arathi Highlands as I suggested, nor even in the Wetlands. As I would not send you into Ironforge as were his wishes, we were only able to agree on one place, and that because it was onerous to both of us. The exchange will take place in the Blasted Lands, before the Dark Portal."

All in the group were too well-trained to begin murmuring at this, but nothing prevented the feeling that all of the air in the room had suddenly been banished to the void. After a long moment of silence, and when she thought that everyone must breathe again or perish, Dawnwaker spoke.

"I know this is much farther than any of you expected to go. If you wish to reconsider, please do so at once." But all held their ground, except a few fighters and healers from the city who stood apart in the back of the room. One hunter spoke up.

"I will still accompany you, Captain, but I must depart at Hammerfall." Several other people echoed him, naming various locations. Dawnwaker nodded to all of them.

"You are welcome to travel with us as long as you see fit. We will not hold you to our caravan against your will."

That satisfied the independents and she turned back to Sylvanas. "We are ready to depart on your orders, my lady."

"You have provisions enough for this length of journey?"

Dawnwaker nodded.

"Then go with my blessing."

* * *

All of Undercity had gathered to see them off. Such a gathering had not departed Tirisfal Glades in generations, and the atmosphere had taken on the qualities of a carnival. Not even the scowls of the Alliance prisoners could dim the resident's merry mood. And, Dawnwaker thought, that was quite a sight. When had dreary Undercity ever seen this sort of celebration? She tried not to allow the thoughts that the festivities were as much for the departure of Shadowshield as for the end of the prisoners' stay, but Worderly caught her eye as she exited the Ruins and walked down toward the road. It would be good to be away from the conniving forsaken; he planted too many damaging thoughts in her head. Were it not for Raxfician, she would never think of leaving Sylvanas alone with the mage's influence.

One of her rogues handed over the reins to a Darnassian Nightsaber, and she mounted it smoothly, ignoring the glares of the night elves among the prisoners. The beast was a prize from one of her earliest adventures and it's former owner lay rotting in a gulch somewhere in the Hinterlands. He certainly had no more need of it, and with a little more training the animal had become completely devoted to her. She twisted a little in the saddle to glance back over the assembly.

Two warriors flanked her, both mounted on enormous wolves, and behind them came two paladins on their chargers. Rogues on foot stood in an arrowhead formation before her-these were the scouts that would go ahead for a time before trading positions with the rear guard. The rest of the company trailed out behind her, all of the prisoners on foot and their guards mounted or not, depending on their preference. Some of the Allies' mounts were being used by various members of the Horde, to the great chagrin of their owners. Dawnwaker smiled grimly. This would be a very unhappy raid group by the time they reached their destination, but hopefully the trip would ensure that none of them did anything this stupid ever again. She could see the human warrior in the midst of the captives staring directly at her, scowling openly. She turned her head back to the road before them and signaled to the warrior on her left, who lifted a horn and sounded _march_.


	5. A Story by Firelight

For the wanderer, fire meant safety. A blaze that could light up the sky meant safety and possibly even rest. And multiple bonfires like the ones at the Bulwark certainly had those qualities. But there was no rest at the Bulwark tonight. Even the regular troops were on edge. Normally caravans were seen as reinforcements and welcomed, but when a caravan brought 50 members of the Alliance into camp, the relaxed mood faded somewhat. No one was staring into the fires tonight.

Gether arrived in the command tent to find the other lieutenants already there, clustered around the map table. A lively discussion was taking place over the next leg of their route through the Western Plaguelands, with Glandren being the main dissident. The forsaken settled himself in a little behind Dawnwaker to hear the elf out.

"I simply can't believe Andorhal is the safest route. We really should have gone through Silverpine."

"The scourge has been routed from that ruin. All that are left are decaying buildings. It's perfectly safe." Dawnwaker's voice was very matter-of-fact, and Gether knew there would be no changing her mind. The others, who did not know her as well, unfortunately continued to argue.

"We can't be certain that the place was completely cleansed."

"It's an unnecessary risk on our part."

"I agree with Glandren, Silverpine is our route."

Dawnwaker drew herself up and a look came over her face that somehow made even the orc and the troll shrink. "We have been discussing this ever since we left Undercity. It's taken us three days to get here, thanks to your dragging feet, and I won't have it any longer. We _are_ going through Andorhal and we _will_ arrive at Chillwind Camp by nightfall."

"And how do we know that the Allies there won't gut us in our sleep? I don't trust that voucher you've got."

"It bears King Varian's seal. And we outnumber that camp greatly. They won't attack us."

"I don't like it." Dawnwaker turned at the deep voice and threw her hands up at the orc.

"Fine, Kentosh. But I will remind you that _I _am the ranking soldier here, and as such, only my opinion matters. You need to learn to handle that, and soon." With that the rogue stalked out of the tent, leaving the underlings staring at each other. Gether knew that this was his cue to smooth things over, but at the moment he agreed with his Captain. And judging by the looks on their faces, the others weren't in an understanding mood at the moment so anything he said would go unheard. He slipped out of the tent after Dawnwaker.

She was sitting by one of the fires, her eyes on the shadowy shapes that were the border guard. He sat down next to her, wincing as the bad tendon in his leg stretched a little too far. One day the thing was going to break and he'd have to have someone sew it up. Blasted inconvenience that.

"They don't seem to know how to take orders."

Dawnwaker glanced at him and spoke softly. "No, they just don't know how to take orders from me. But that'll change soon enough."

Gether cracked a smile. "If there's one thing about you I know, it's that your orders are all allowed to be questioned, except those regarding direction. You and your maps."

The elf looked sideways at him and smiled thinly in return. "It's the way of the wanderers."

"Of which I am now a privileged part, now that you've let me out of the city. So instruct me, wise one. Let's hear of your recent journey."

This caused the small smile to grow a little wider, but it was a smile of bitterness, not pleasure. Her voice was still small as she began, but it gradually grew in strength. It was not in Dawnwaker's nature to speak gently.

"I went to the Un'Goro Crater, over in Kalimdor. It was a long journey. I went by zeppelin to Grom'gol and bought a wolf for the short trip to Booty Bay. Poor skinny thing it was. I'm sure if it had had any extra energy it would have gone off into the jungle after some food and taken me with it. But we made it safely to the Bay. I arrived there a day after the ship to Ratchet left and so I had to wait another week for the next one. That sea voyage took an entire month. Far too tedious for me. That's why I don't go to Kalimdor much.

"We landed in Ratchet and that's when the real journey began. I bought a horse and set off through the barrens, which wasn't so bad. Plenty of food running around. Herds of gazelle, you know. It was a bit tense going through the Razorfen area, but I kept my head down and made it through there fine. And then I had the pleasure of riding the Great Lift."

"I've heard stories."

"They were all wrong. It's bigger. And very creaky. But those tauren know their stuff. It saw me down safely on the floor of Thousand Needles. Now that place...I had never seen anything like it. It was a giant maze. If I hadn't had the road to guide me, I might have wandered through there, lost forever. But I came upon Freewind post soon enough, and stopped there for a day to re-supply and find a guide to take me through the Shimmering Flats."

She shook her head, unaware that a nearby guard had stepped a little bit closer in order to listen. Most of them here had never been farther away than the Plaguelands, or Silverpine, much less all the way to Kalimdor.

"The only thing we have here in the Eastern Kingdoms that even comes close to the Shimmering Flats are the Badlands, and even they are no comparison. The road vanishes into a sea of white sand. My guide gave me a some thin cloth to wear over my eyes, but they still hurt at the end of each day. It was like the sun set the ground on fire. I felt like we wandered for days."

"But what about the Mirage Raceway? I've heard stories about that too."

"Yes, we stopped there for water. Bare place it was, not one of sanctuary. The first time I felt safe was when we began to climb out of it, up through the pass to Tanaris and Gadgetzan. Now that is an interesting city. Goblins are strange folk. But I didn't stay there long either, not with Un'Goro so close. There was a way down into the crater by land, but to get there one would have to pass through the desert, and I was told there were no roads there. To go by windrider would only take a day and be far safer, so that's what I did, and finally landed safely at Marshal's Refuge."

"Are they as uncomfortable as they say they are? The windriders?"

"Yes, indeed. I could hardly feel my legs when I got off. But the saddles have good straps, so you can sleep without fear of falling off. Still, I'd rather never do it again. But I had arrived in Un'Goro. Now the reason I was there was to retrieve a pendant that had been stolen from Undercity. The Lady's agents traced it as far as the crater, when we lost contact. They were believed to be dead. I discovered otherwise; as it turns out, they were only holed up in a cave on the southwestern edge, badly wounded and unable to outrun the creatures that roamed Terror Run. That's what they call that area, you see.

"They'd actually caught up with the thief, but a devilsaur got him before they could. So the pendant, of course, had ended up inside the devilsaur. They attacked the thing, but were wounded and had to make a run for it."

"So you killed it?" the nearby guard asked, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.

Dawnwaker answered very matter-of-factly. "Yes, I did. And then we had a time getting everyone back to Marshal's Refuge. One didn't make it. And then there were no windriders _or_ gryphons left. Supply run, they told us, they would be back within a week. I was lucky, though; a tauren who knew the desert needed to get to Gadgetzan, so he agreed to guide me through. That was a perilous run, I might have died twice if my ravasaur hadn't the sense and training to fight off the beasts."

"Your ravasaur?" burst Lil'lik. Gether turned at her voice, startled to see that she and the rest of the lieutenants had gathered around the fire and were listening intently. "You rode a ravasaur?"

"Yes. A venomhide. Apparently I was immune to their poison thanks to my searching Un'Goro, and I managed to run into a crazy troll who tamed the blasted things. Mine was wonderful, got me out of many a tight spot, and across that desert."

"But you didn't bring it here."

"I left from Steamwheedle Port, on a small cutter that sailed north to Ratchet. There wasn't room for him. But after that it seemed it would be a easy journey back home."

Gether leveled a significant look at her side and the bandage he knew was still wrapped around her torso under her armor and tunic. She caught the look and grinned the bitter grin again.

"Something went wrong in the zeppelin from Grom'gol, and the goblins had to put it down at Tarren Mill. Spectacular job they did landing the thing. I bought a horse and headed up through the mountains. The ogres there took offense at the intrusion-" here she touched her side- "but I got away and came through Andorhal to the Bulwark, and thence to Undercity." She stood, and all those who had gathered around automatically stood as well. "So you see, Glandren, how I can be certain of Andorhal's safety." She began to turn away, but the paladin spoke up with new respect in his voice:

"How do we traverse the Alterac Mountains, then, Captain?"

This summoned a genuine smile, and she motioned the lieutenants back into her tent and around the map table where she traced part of the image with the tip of her finger. "We leave the main road here and find the river near Chillwind Point. Then all we must do is follow the water to Tarren Mill. We'll stay on the western bank. A company as large as ours can fend off the occasional bear, I'm sure. How does this sound to you?"

Each murmured their approval and began departing, Gether last of all. He watched with concern as the blood elf sat heavily down on her mat and began removing her boots, frowning at the wince that crossed her face.

"Captain, you can hide it from them, but not from me. Is that healing how it should?"

Dawnwaker glanced at her side and shrugged, very slightly. "I'm following Jeneira's instructions to the letter."

"I could ask one of the healers to look at it, just to make sure..."

"No. It'll heal in time."

"You have enough of the salve?"

"I'm sure when it runs out I'll be able to get more. It'll be fine. Go get some rest, we've got a run ahead of us tomorrow."

Gether nodded unhappily and back out of the tent, deciding for the hundredth time that Jeneira should have been one of the healers to accompany this venture. But she had been called back to Silvermoon City for some reason, and she _did_ seem fine with leaving Dawnwaker alone. The forsaken shook his head in dismissal of it all. The captain surely would be fine, but he would keep an eye on her all the same.


	6. From the Plaguelands to the Wall

Dawnwaker was proven right: aside from the occasional wraith, the entire trip through the Western Plaguelands was uneventful. The company maintained a strenuous pace for the duration of that leg of the journey, and arrived at Chillwind Camp just as the sun was setting. The defenders of the small encampment challenged them at first, but upon presentation of the voucher complete with King Varian's seal, the Alliance portion grudgingly lowered their weapons. The other half of the residents were members of the Argent Dawn, and they welcomed Dawnwaker and certain others with open arms. In the end that night was spent in tense and watchful silence, but nothing went wrong and the sunrise saw the company on it's way again.

Dawnwaker spent much of that morning with one knee hitched over the horn of her saddle, supporting a detailed map of the terrain between Chillwind Camp and Tarren Mill. The caravan went much more slowly than the day before and stopped frequently. Around midday the blood elf led them from the road to the grassy hills that sloped down away to the left of the track, which, in the near distance, began to noticeably rise. They, however, continued down, descending into a narrow valley. At the bottom flowed a deep, steady river, and they continued down it's western bank until the sun set. Dawnwaker called for an update from all of her lieutenants, as she had been riding at the front of the line with the map the entire day.

"All of the Horde forces seem fine, Captain," Kentosh reported. "One of the Tauren druids caught a stone with her hoof, but she got it out fine. That's the most to say there."

The elf nodded. The two druids were part of the independent group, and were not _endhi_. They had come along in order to gather plants from one end of the Eastern Kingdoms to the next, and then to find passage to Kalimdor from Booty Bay. Neither were healers, instead being adept at shapeshifting. They often ran ahead in the guise of beasts or birds to scout the path ahead.

"And the prisoners?"

"They complain as usual." There was obvious contempt in Glandren's voice. "Their leader is the loudest. I don't know in what condition they traveled here in, but apparently this is worse."

Dawnwaker's jaw tightened at that. Her own people were not complaining, and so she saw no need for the prisoners to. They were receiving the same food and shelter as anyone else, were being asked to keep up a steady, but not grueling pace, and were the most well protected of the entire caravan, save the healers. She stood up, and, leaving her daggers on the table, left the tent. All eyes turned to Gether. The forsaken rogue shrugged.

"She's not one to tolerate self-pity."

There were murmurs of assent at this and each left the tent in turn.

The next morning her handiwork was discovered and was the subject of much laughter among Horde and Alliance alike. General Hunter had apparently been strapped to a long pole while he slept, secured by his hands and feet. Two of his guildmates (the second and third loudest, she explained to Gether later) had been tied to either end of the pole by their wrists. The only way for the three to join the caravan was for the two to carry their general as if he were some prize brought home from battle to be cooked slowly over a great fire. They walked like this the entire day and their escorts found no end of entertainment in it. More than a few of the prisoners laughed as well, and by the time Tarren Mill came in sight near the end of the day, Dawnwaker decided that their humiliation was complete. She rode back down the line and sliced the ropes quickly, giving all three a stern look as she did so. The two on either side of the general rubbed their hands furiously, but the general himself collapsed, unable to stand on his numb legs. A night elf and a human girl-the same who had been Dawnwaker's target before-moved forwardly quickly and hoisted him to his feet, supporting him on either side. She watched this impassively and then moved back up the line to the front.

They camped just outside of the town and spent a little extra time the next morning replenishing their supplies before moving on. A company from Southshore met them the next evening bringing more supplies, which they proclaimed were for Alliance members only. Dawnwaker indicated her approval and Gether directed them to be stored separately from the other foodstuffs, and the next day they were on their way once more. Here, however, they stopped at midday, and Dawnwaker called several people up to the front.

"We are about to pass Durnholde Keep. It's a large fortress, and we would be no match for them. But I think we might be able to pass by without trouble if they are distracted within their own walls. Jansen, you'll take four rogues in and cause as much mayhem as you possibly can. You two druids, I want you to keep an eye on them from the air. One of you stay with them while the other brings me messages. We'll head past once they're sufficiently occupied. "

The three to whom she spoke nodded and the small party headed off quickly while she sent more messages down the line. Every rogue in the column was to stealth, and the other classes were to stand ready. Once this was finished she waited quietly for the signal.

It came in the form of a snickering cackle and a beating of wings as one of the druids flew down to hover just above her. Such an alert was hardly needed, judging from the shouts that carried the distance. A muffled explosion followed soon after and Dawnwaker motioned for the warrior on her left to sound the call, and the entire column moved forward. She leaned over to glance through the trees at the deep-set gate of the Keep, grinning with delight to see it on fire and no guards anywhere nearby. Gether nudged his skeletal steed a little ahead to pull up beside her and almost winced at the look on her face.

"Happy, Captain?"

She turned the maniacal grin on him. "I couldn't be more so."

He smiled hesitantly in return and backed down the line.

Jansen and his rogues rejoined the caravan at Thoradin's Wall, slipping in quietly past the border patrol and approaching the command tent from behind, only to find Gether waiting. The blood elf laughed at this and motioned for the rest to disperse to their own tents while he went on around.

"That's why you're her second, Gether, and not I."

"I'd gladly hand you that position right now, Burnstride. Ah-" He grabbed the other's wrist and moved his hand away from the tent flap. "She's not there. She's in one of her moods, went wandering around the camp."

Jansen stared for a moment, then swore under his breath. "We'll be putting out fires 'til morning."

"No, that's just you. She's more one to freeze the mages out of their robes. Scares everyone half to death when she's like this."

"Well then, we'll go find her and you can calm her down a bit."

"Oh, not I. I may be her second for all pertaining to the guild, but I am in no way fit to deal with her personally. There's a reason she's never taken a partner."

"Really? I've always thought you and she-"

The forsaken stopped him with a look. "Dawnwaker is my beloved captain, but I would not take _that _position for all the riches in Azeroth and Outland combined."

"You're a wise man."

"And you're a thoughtless, flamboyant elf. What did you blow up anyway?"

"Their treasury. See this ring? It's new."

So the conversation turned to the raid as they walked. By the time they found Dawnwaker the two druids and several other rogues had joined them. The elf was apparently hearing the complaints of the Alliance general, though Gether could tell she was doing it entirely for her own amusement rather than through any sense of pity. General Hunter, for his part, was practically screaming in her face, and Jansen winced at her expression.

"She's not as happy as she was before."

"Dealing with allies always calms her down."

"Can you hear what they're saying?"

"No-wait!"

Gether's cry came too late; the captain had risen from her seat and backhanded the human man across the face. Startled, he fell backward and she hovered over him, looking for all the world like a storm cloud ready to descend with vengeance on a helpless seaside village. Gether darted forward quickly, catching the last of what she her words.

"-ungrateful heel, would you rather I leave you to find your way south on your own? Have you crossed the Great Sea, or seen the fires of Outland? You _will_ be silent for the rest of this journey, or I promise I will start cutting fingers. But not yours. No, I think your lady friend there-yes, the paladin-hers will do to start."

Bruised and a little bloody, General Hunter rose enough to stand between the blood elf and the paladin, and the look of determination on his face was such as Gether had not seen before. For once the Allie general seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. The forsaken breathed a token sigh of relief, certain now that she had seen the man learn his lesson, the elf would leave them be. But then he glimpsed Jansen on his right, shaking his head slowly, and the fire in Dawnwaker's eyes registered. Whatever the affront, she was not going to let this go.

A dagger flashed and no one moved to stop her. Allie and Horde alike were stunned, eyes fixed on the unstoppable motion. For the Horde, this was their ultimate superior, none would even think of voicing a protest. The idea did pass through Gether's mind, but she was moving too fast for his words to form. All he had time for was the thought that at least it would be over quickly.

The man grunted as something hit him and the woman behind him let out a soft cry, but not one that would indicate the amputation of digits. For Dawnwaker had not reached the two before a third figure burst from behind them and closed on her. The elf reacted on instinct and but for great agility the cat would have run its heart over her dagger. As it was, it sustained a deep gash in the shoulder and promptly shifted back into its true form, a night elf. Blood ran even as a green glow rose from inside the wound, slowly knitting muscles and skin back together. He stood tall, facing Dawnwaker and staring her in the face, until she finally lowered her dagger.

"Guards, secure these prisoners and make certain that one doesn't shift again."

Then the dagger was sheathed and the rogue moved off into the night.

Gether found her in the command tent, staring blanking at a map of the Arathi Highlands. She spoke first, without lifting her eyes.

"Something's very wrong with me, Gether."

He approached the map table and stood silent for a moment, thinking of what he could possibly say to help her. "You only do what you have to, Captain."

"No." She shook her head slowly, pushed herself away from the table and closed her eyes. "No, what I did tonight was unnecessary. I overreacted and I couldn't stop myself."

"At least you are aware of your actions. However you do it, we all know that you will get us to the Blasted Lands safely. There could be no other way."

"I almost killed another _endhi_."

"One who knowingly put himself under your blade. In the end we're the same as the rest of them."

Now she looked at him and her tone changed abruptly. "Gether I want you to listen and listen closely. This here-" she held up a roll of parchment- "is a list: the chain of command. If anyone, _anyone_, gets separated from the caravan, there is to be no slowing down. No waiting, no sending out rescue parties. The most important thing is to get this entire party down to the Portal. Do you understand?"

He gave her a guarded look. "Captain, I-"

"Even if it's me, even if I get separated, or something else happens."

"Yes, but-"

"According to this list, you are first in line if that happens. Then Kentosh, then Glandren."

"Captain! Something _is_ wrong with you!"

Dawnwaker put the parchment down on the table and began unclasping her spaulders. "You're dismissed."

Gether stood for a moment more, but the conversation was clearly over. Finally he turned without a word and left the tent. For once the darkness felt warmer.


	7. Fighting Fire

"Gether!"

The forsaken turned at Jansen's call, picking out the dark shape that was the blood elf rogue. Most of the fires in the camp had died down and the rogues on patrol were in their element. As was the rogue that followed Jansen. His dark tabard was similar to Shadowshield's in color and style, but certain marked differences stood out and Gether recognized the crest of Ravenholdt. The two stopped in front of him and he looked the human up and down before asking what his business was here.

"I'm come to deliver this to Captain Jalyria Dawnwaker of Shadowshield, along with Lord Ravenholdt's warmest greetings."

"Captain Dawnwaker has retired for the night."

"Lord Ravenholdt was emphatic that this should arrive here tonight."

"Then you should have ridden faster."

But the man still stood obstinate. Gether glanced over the human's shoulder at Jansen, who shrugged, and with a sigh he took the small box and scroll from the rogue's hands.

"I'll wait for a response."

Gether did not favor him with a look as he turned and reentered the command tent. Dawnwaker was sitting on her cot, apparently having just removed her boots. One torch still burned near her and by it's light the forsaken could just make out the fresh bandages wrapped around her ribs. She quickly let her tunic fall back over them and replaced a small bottle in a box and set it aside.

"I thought I dismissed you."

"I would not have disturbed you, Captain, but the messenger from Ravenholdt insisted." He handed her the box and scroll.

She opened the scroll first and read quickly, a slight smile touching her lips. Then she opened the box, glanced inside, and set it aside as well.

"Thank you, Gether." She motioned to the exit. He didn't move.

"The messenger waits for a response."

Her jaw worked for a moment and she stood with a sigh to retrieve some parchment and ink. He waited while she wrote and then took the roll she handed him, but still did not move.

"Your side, Captain. Is everything..."

"Fine, Gether. If you're interested, that box contained more salve. Now go on."

He nodded and turned to leave.

"Gether?"

He turned. "Yes, Captain?"

"Inform the other lieutenants to tell their people that we will be joined tomorrow by a contingent of rogues from Ravenholdt. They'll go with us and assist as long as they deem necessary."

"Yes, Captain!" He left.

She sat down heavily on the cot and looked at the letter once more, eyes now full of concern and relief at once. A messenger from Ravenholdt could have been a bad thing, but Lord Ravenholdt apparently still saw her as a member of their order and as such deserving of their help. These reinforcements would make the journey much easier.

* * *

The Ravenholdt rogues joined them early the next morning even before all of the supplies had been packed. Their leader, the same rogue who had brought the message the previous evening spent the first hour riding conferring with Dawnwaker, much to the chagrin of her other lieutenants. Gether was left to explain, and he was given the chance to several times as each came to complain to him.

"She's a member of Ravenholdt's Assassins, she always has been."

"But she's not taking orders from them, is she?" Lil'lik, the most recent enquirer, was not as distressed about the idea as Kentosh had been, but she certainly wasn't happy either.

"No, she gained autonomy when she founded Shadowshield. From all accounts Lord Ravenholdt regards her as a friend and equal."

"But he's not _endhi_. None of these new rogues are."

Gether twisted in his saddle to look at the troll. "And what does that matter?"

"I just think they won't understand what's going on here."

"Captain Dawnwaker has explained the situation to them in full. It's actually not that difficult to understand. In simple terms, it's a basic prisoner trade."

"Trading _endhi_ for others." The disgust in her voice was plain.

"You're loyal to the Lady Sylvanas are you not?"

She glanced at him. "Yes."

"She's not _endhi_."

"But she understands us and empathizes with our situation."

"Mostly through the Captain's doing, I'll remind you. So trust her with these Ravenholdt rogues as well why don't you?"

Her face grew thoughtful and she slowed her mount to fall behind him. He was allowed ten minutes of peaceful, uninterrupted riding when he saw the unmistakable shape of Dawnwaker's Darnassian Nightsaber coming towards him through the early morning fog.

"Gether, I want you to head up front. I'll be up and down inspecting the line."

He nodded and moved off. Dawnwaker continued back, saluted by each Horde soldier she came across, stopping to speak with a few. She saw to it that the baggage carts were secure and then headed toward the column of prisoners.

Dawnwaker was not a cruel person. Most of the prisoners walked free of chains with only rope binding their hands. They were guarded by the most skilled of the Horde forces who walked or rode alongside them, just out of arms reach. Seeing that all was peaceful there, the blood elf rode a little further back to where the more dangerous few were kept. These included General Hunter, lest he incite his guild to revolt, and the few others that had made trouble for the caravan. They walked with shackles on their feet and their hands bound behind them, fettered closely to a wagon that carried the prisoner's food from the Alliance. She looked over this as well, then dismounted to speak to one of the guards.

"The druid, you have him secure?"

"Yes, Captain, he's there." The warrior pointed. "One of the warlocks enchanted his chains so they'll hold him no matter what form he takes."

She nodded. "Excellent, thank you."

She was halfway back up the line when one of the Tauren druids darted up in her travel form and morphed back into her own shape.

"You sent for me?"

"Yes. I want you to fly to Hammerfall, have them meet us at the fork with supplies. We'll save four days of travel that way, and any who wish to leave the caravan can travel back with them."

The druid nodded and arms became wings as she lifted from the ground in the direction of the Horde settlement. Dawnwaker watched her go and then nudged her mount in a new direction, moving slightly away from the caravan into the fog. Now, enveloped in the white mist, she had time to think. She went this way in silence for a long while, paralleling the road, until her musings were suddenly interrupted by a loud shriek that was immediately drowned out by her nightsaber's roar. These were her only warnings before the raptor closed in, but it was enough. The beast leapt at her and she rose in the saddle, reached out her dagger and slit its throat. Ducking allowed its corpse to fly over her and land with a thud. She grinned and dismounted in order to get it on her mount to take back to the cooks, but she would not get the chance to touch it. For at that moment from back down the line came shouts, and a light washed over her, diffused by the fog.

With a running leap she was back on her mount and rushing for the sounds. Within moments she burst from the fog into a sea of flames and smoke. Shapes moved about in a haze, light glinted off weapons here and there, and what ground was visible was blackened. Dawnwaker slid off the saber and drew her daggers, stepping silently through the thick air. A flame rushed at the edge of her vision and was gone. A rogue slid past her, unaware of her presence, and then he was gone as well. Shouts and cries of combat still echoed all around, but where she was in her little circle of vision all was calm. In vain she searched for a target. And then she fixated on the largest bright spot in all the smoke and headed for that.

It became clearer the closer she got, and she gritted her teeth in frustration. A fire elemental hovered above the ground and its flames lashed out angrily at the warrior and the hunter opposing it. A badly burned body lay on the ground to the side: a large wolf, the hunter's pet. The elemental rumbled in anger and struck at them; the hunter loosed an arrow, but it passed harmlessly through the fire. This only angered the thing more and it sent a blazing pulse out, singeing the two fighters and forcing Dawnwaker to take a step back lest her presence be known. Then, seeing an opening in the wake of that attack, she darted in. One dagger flashed in the firelight and the elemental turned at it, while the other came down hard on one of the bracers that encircled its wrists. The bracer shattered and the elemental let out a screeching cry. She didn't let it recover, dancing swiftly around and striking the other. With both gone the elemental wailed and coalesced into a fiery ball before vanishing.

Streaks of flame still rushed through the smoke. She ran. There was another, but two mages had it handled. Frost bolts were perhaps the most effective thing against enemies such as this. Something else came into view: one of the supply wagons was burning and scorch marks covered the ground near it. She moved on. There, a voidwalker was engaging another elemental while a warlock cast spells from a distance. It vanished in a cry as she slipped past. And there, there was someone who needed help. A druid in cat form appeared to be protecting a body, snarling at the elemental that obviously wanted to see it burn. Dawnwaker came at it as she had the other, but before she reached it, a stray flame caught her sleeve between spaulders and bracers. She let out an involuntary cry and the elemental whirled and lashed out. She dodged aside and struck out, missing its nearest bracer by a hair. Then with a growl the cat had the other, crushing it in its jaw. A few more seconds and it was over, the enemy banished.

Fires still crackled, but the smoke began to lift and Dawnwaker saw a flicker of light as the cat shifted. The Ally druid. But he made no move towards her, instead rushing to the human that lay motionless. His hands were bright with healing energy and she decided for the moment to let it be. The nightsaber came bounding up at her whistle and she wasted no time in making a quick sweeping circle around the aftermath of the small battle. Her job now was to make certain the situation was contained.

* * *

The noise after the battle was possibly louder and more confused than the din of conflict had been. A makeshift field hospital had been set up near the wagons and people rushed to and fro while the healers all yelled for them to get out of the way and make themselves useful somewhere else. Dawnwaker stepped aside as an Orc rushed for one of the free pallets, hauling a wounded Forsaken over his shoulder. But for all the chaos things were moving quickly, and all but the most severely wounded would be well enough to travel on their own within the hour. The remaining could ride in the carts.

Seeing that Lil'lik had the healers managed, Dawnwaker moved off in search of Kentosh. He was easy to find, bellowing orders as he saw to the reorganization of the prisoners. Gether was with him, as was the other Tauren druid.

"Captain!" Gether called. "I was about to send you a message."

"Well I'm here now." She turned to the druid. "I sent your sister to Hammerfall to instruct them of where to meet us. Go after her and let Drum Fel know what happened here, and that we'll need more supplies than initially estimated." The druid nodded and left.

"Gether, you have a head count?"

"We lost five in the battle, Captain. Three Horde, two Alliance. All others are accounted for. Healers have been attempting to bring the lost back, but they were all very badly burned."

"We don't need the healers hurting themselves; send a message, they're not to wear themselves out."

Gether nodded and motioned to a nearby rogue who dashed off towards the hospital in a sprint. Dawnwaker was silent for a moment more.

"How did this happen?"

"We're still looking into that, Captain. From all accounts one of the prisoners slipped away this morning while camp was being packed up. He blundered into the Circle of West Binding and caught the attention of the elementals there, and when he realized his mistake he tried to get back here as fast as possible. They followed him, and, well..."

Kentosh spoke with a grunt. "They torched the prisoner's wagon first, that's how all of these got loose." He motioned and Dawnwaker turned to see General Hunter and the rest of the more dangerous prisoners clustered in a circle set a little apart from the rest of the prisoners. The druid was there and she scowled in his direction, then turned back to the orc.

"Make this fast, I don't want to camp here. We'll pull as much together from the wreckage as we can and move on until nightfall. Gether, come, we'll see to the reorganization."

Kentosh nodded and turned back to the prisoners while she and her second headed back to see how long the badly wounded ones needed before they could be moved in the wagons. But then Dawnwaker stopped just out of earshot from the prisoners.

"Gether, who fell?"

"Two of our rogues, Glyas and Heert. And a hunter, Thorotill."

"And the Allies?"

"A draenei shaman and a human rogue. Same one that lead them back here."

She nodded. The ground rumbled slightly underneath their feet.

"The elementals are angry."

She smiled. "Gether, you see to things. I'll scout down the road and make certain that nothing else is waiting for us."

He watched her go in silence until Kentosh joined him. "She looked a bit...sick."

Gether glanced at the Orc. "She feels guilty. She would have liked to save them all."

"Even the one who caused this?"

"Yes. Oh she would have been angry and he would have been severely punished, but he wouldn't have died. She just needs a little time to think. Your section ready to move?"

"Yes."

"Good. Watch them close."

The warrior looked grimly on the much subdued set of prisoners and set his jaw. "Oh, I most certainly will."


	8. Tremors

The journey now took on the feel of a death march. Their final destination-the Blasted Lands-now seemed so distant now as to not even be thought of, and only by reaching the Thandol Span could any hope penetrate dull eyes. For the Alliance prisoners the bridge represented passage to the Wetlands and _their_ territory. For their Horde guards it meant an end to this land of elementals that seemed to rumble with anger at every passing step. The highlands seemed to have grown wilder with time. Each monolith they passed loomed out of the morning mist with a silent menace and even the skeletal horses drawing the wagons shuddered slightly. There was a malice in the stones that may or may not have been against them, but it affected them all the same. There was a strange lack of beasts.

Envoys from Refuge Pointe and Hammerfall met them at the camp at the junction of the three main roads, though they came at different times. Both parties seemed to feel the same pressure from the land as did the caravan, but that was no comfort. Gether refused to allow himself to become unsettled, but it was an hourly battle and while he may have managed to avoid the general unrest, the behavior of his captain was enough to keep him on edge. Even as he welcomed the two druids back to camp and made certain that supplies were being stowed he had his attention on the dark silhouette of the rogue on the saber. The command tent had been pitched slightly away and uphill of the main circle of wagons, and Dawnwaker had remained there, watching motionless from her vantage point. When all had been fairly settled a horn called the lieutenants to her and they each entered the tent stiffly.

Dawnwaker looked around with a frown, noting the tense faces and white knuckles. All of her officers had been loathe to sit until she had made the request an order, and even now their eyes skittered from the map table to the tent flap to their feet and back. Something was certainly wrong, and she had to get to the bottom of it, and quickly. They would need to be at their best for the passage through Alliance lands. As for herself, she had had a long time to think during the travel from the site of the battle and had only just now come to an arrangement that would work. It was not ideal, for it involved clamping down on _everything_ that was potentially useful to this nameless fear that had permeated the camp, but if she had to go without emotions to avoid another outburst like the ones before, that's what she would do. Now she looked at her lieutenants impassively and pondered how to have them do the same. They would not meet her eyes, or each other's. Only Gether was looking at her, and the trust in his eyes prompted her to speak.

"Kentosh. Report please."

The orc warrior's voice was uncharacteristically shaky as he replied. "All is quiet, Captain. There were a few disagreements earlier, all of which were resolved. One of the scouts saw an ogre eyeing us from a distance, but there's been no sign of any potential attack."

She gave him a small nod. The "disagreements" he spoke of had actually been fist fights, several between Horde members and one between two prisoners. Kentosh's way of resolving them had been to drag the two parties apart and give them a quick beating himself. As for the scout's report, the rogue had reported the ogres as running off scared. So what was it then, that was spreading such wide unrest through Horde, Alliance, and ogre alike? The ground suddenly rumbled under her feet and the braziers shook, the flames in them flickering. Well, perhaps that was what.

"And the prisoners?"

"Uneasy."

"Mmm. Li'lik?"

The troll gave a quick summary of the status of the wounded, and then Gether proceeded to outline the state of supplies they had received. Both reports were good: hurts were being healed and there was plenty of food and more than enough new weapons, armor patches, blankets, tents, bandages, and tools to get them through to Kargath. Despite all of this, her lieutenants were still shifting uneasily in their seats. At last she dismissed them, telling them to all get a good rest. Gether was the last to exit, and she put a hand out to detain him.

"See me first thing in the morning."

"Yes Captian." And he departed as well.

The sun had not broken over the hills when the forsaken returned, tapping a bony finger lightly on one of the extinguished lanterns that hung just outside the tent flap to announce his presence. Dawnwaker was waiting for him, uncommonly alert at that hour. Gether wondered if she had slept at all. She waved him inside quickly, motioning to a stool near where she sat and spoke to him urgently in low tones.

"We have one or more infiltrators among us. I believe they are the cause of this unrest, somehow."

Gether looked at her, surprised. "You felt it too, Captain?"

"We've all felt it, for quite some time. Ever since we passed Durnholde Keep. And did you notice the astonishing lack of activity when we passed Stromgarde?"

The forsaken stilled suddenly. "Syndicate."

"Yes."

"They'll be disguised."

"Yes. That is why I am telling only you. We need to catch them, not scare them away so that they may return to strike at us again. Go, and be certain of the location of every rogue in Shadowshield. Tell the other lieutenants that they are to take a roll of all of their people, and to keep it very quiet. They'll need to check the independents as well."

"They'll be human, if they are from the Syndicate."

"That's why I'll be checking the prisoners."

Gether nodded slowly, and again the trust in his dead face moved her. "Go." He left. She followed him outside and went right, down to where the prisoners slept under the stars. The guards were alert and she eyed them all carefully. When she was satisfied she went to walk among the prisoners. They seemed to all sleep soundly, but she frowned as she looked at each face. She did not know them well enough to discern one face from another. That meant having the help of the general. So, when the daylight broke and while the Horde forces packed the caravan for travel, she walked with General Hunter down the line of prisoners, watching his face carefully. She had merely told him that she wished to know each prisoner's name, and his voice was already tight. It varied on some names, but always in the direction of trust or the affection shared among friends and allies. They reached the end of the line without a slip. She turned him back over to Kentosh with an order to have the prisoners ready to move out, then turned away to speak to the head of the Raveholdt rogues. Gether moved to help Kentosh.

"I thought we had a count after those elements took some," the orc grumbled. Gether didn't answer him. The whole morning felt strange, and the very air glowed with a purple light...but that was too strange. And there was a humming. He whirled to see three, no five, of the human prisoners standing ready for combat, their hands bright with shadow magic. As one they released the bolts towards their target. Dawnwaker.

Everything became confused. The general twisted out of Kentosh's grip and landed a blow hard to his head as Gether ran for his captain, though he was too far away. She was safe though: the Ravenholdt captain tackled her to the ground. Gether winced as the shadow magic coursed through the rogue, and he knew he was quite dead when Dawnwaker slid out from under him. Her face was full of fury and it drove the two knives she sent through the air unerringly into two Syndicate throats. Gether's knife took care of a third, and then a large blue shape sprang up to cover the other two as they dashed away. He had a moment to look around into what should have been utter chaos.

Some of the prisoners were gone, and the rest were being subdued by their guards. But where were the others? There were vast numbers of Horde here and only a few here and there were visible. Kentosh discovered the reason first, stumbling over a bedroll.

"They's asleep, captain!" he hollered. "All of 'em!"

"Wake them!"

All who were lucid jumped at her command, the pure anger in her voice motivating as nothing else possibly could. She looked around warily, then kicked one of the tauren druids.

"Into the air! See where they've gone!"

The druid did not ask questions, but simply changed form and flew, circling the camp in ever wider circles. She was soon joined by her sister, who spotted the two fleeing Syndicate members first. Dawnwaker would have pursued them herself, but the Ravenholdt captain's second put a hand on her arm and motioned to the rest of his group. She nodded. They would take care of the conjurers. She had prisoners to find.

Once again she blessed the druids for joining them. Their hawk eyes spotted the shred of fabric beneath the rock and they led the party to the escapee's hiding spot with scrupulous silence. It was, not surprisingly, the druid, the paladin, and two warriors who had stuck closely to the human general's side. The rogues who caught them did not handle them gently as they returned to the caravan and secured them to the prisoner's wagon. Dawnwaker kept a careful eye on General Hunter and noted the strained expression in his eyes when he saw them. She motioned to Gether and leaned over to speak softly to him.

"I want to interrogate them all before we depart, those four and the general. Go ahead and begin breaking camp."

Gether nodded and she motioned to the guards who immediately hauled the human warrior to his feet and pulled him off to the side where she could speak to him without being heard. She was not kind, and the interrogation went rather like the first but for one remarkable difference. The general seemed far more eager to admit his wrongs, even to the point of stammering out his confession. Yet there was something missing. The next few interrogations filled that in. The first warrior did not crack, but the second did. It had not been the general's idea, he argued, but the druid's. More than that he would not say. She called for the druid next.

"So you are the architect of this escape attempt. Did you also plan the assassination?"

The druid looked up at her silently, his glowing eyes revealing nothing. Normally she would ease into this, but the three previous interrogations had exhausted her patience. She backhanded him across the face, then gave him a kick in the gut for good measure and repeated her question. He gritted his teeth and continued to meet her eyes silently.

"Well?"

With a shove she pushed him over and delicately put her foot over his throat, putting just enough weight there to be painful. "I suggest you tell me, druid, and quickly. I may be short one prisoner already, but trust me, I am willing to go to two."

He breathed through gritted teeth and glared. She kicked his head and took a few strides away, jerking one of her daggers out of its sheath and and pulling a small vial from the pouch at her side. But Gether's hand came down on her arm before she could apply the poison.

"He won't tell you anything, Captain. He wouldn't break in Undercity, he won't break here."

There was stillness for a moment, then a nod. The guards took the cue and hauled the night elf back to his feet, but Dawnwaker intercepted them before they could reach the wagon and took the elf's face in her hand, nails digging into his skin as she forced him to look at her face.

"Do not cross me again." She let him go and moved away, but not before he whispered something weakly.

"You have so much hate."

She chose to ignore that and spoke loudly to Gether instead. "We'll try something else, something that seems to have been effective in the past." Snapping her fingers, she indicated the general and the paladin. Both immediately went ashen.

"General Hunter, you will tell me everything now, or I WILL begin amputating your friend's hands. I think I'll do it slowly, too."

And that was all it took. In the end the story was simple: the prisoners had been approached many nights before by members of the Syndicate who had gained entry to the camp with their sleeping spells. They came with one objective, to kill Dawnwaker, but they were more than willing to offer freedom for the prisoners in exchange for their help. Slipping in the night after the fiery attack, they had immediately begun sowing their discord in an attempt to weaken their enemies, and their plan might very well have succeeded had it not been for the presence of the Ravenholdt captain. As for the escape, the druid had reasoned that a few gone would be easier to hide, and if they could get away, they could find help. Dawnwaker's anger grew through all of this, showing in her clenched fist rather than her impassive face. But Gether knew how to read her, and what he saw made him nervous. She was on the verge of what would have been a lengthy tirade when he stopped her for the second time.

"I will attempt to explain to them, Captain, if we want to go ahead and get moving.

"It will take two days to reach the Span as it is," he added in a lower voice.

She nodded stiffly, and as she mounted her nightsaber and moved to the head of the caravan she felt a great sense of relief rush out. Gether would take care of this. If anyone could possibly drive the idea that the caravan was the safest place for them right now, Gether could. And he would do so in a calm and reasonable manner, one much more effective than her shouting exercise would have been. Thank the stars for Gether.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the new Ravenholdt captain, approaching her quickly on horseback. She straightened.

"Did you find them?"

He was breathing hard. "We caught one, Captain Dawnwaker, but the other got away. I fear we must leave your caravan here. Our business lies with the Syndicate, and my captain's death must be reported."

She nodded, understanding. "Safety, then, captain."

The man shifted in his saddle, clearly uneasy with his new rank. "And you as well." He left.

The next two days were relatively uneventful. The prisoners muttered and the ground trembled, but these had become commonplace. The entire Horde group was more watchful than ever before, for all had received a clear message that the easy jaunt through friendly lands was long over, and the journey could only become harder from here on out. Before them was Alliance territory, and the wasted lands around Blackrock Mountain. But Gether was more worried about the bridge, and he expressed his concern to Dawnwaker after a particularly large earthquake dislodged a monolith from the slope above the road and crashed not a yard away from one of the supply wagons.

"The odds are slim," she said shortly, but he could see she was marking just how fast the caravan could move and pondering over the length of the bridge itself. "It has stood for ages, I think it will stand a little longer."

The earth was still when they reached the cliff that marked the end of the Highlands, but Dawnwaker still took time to reform the marching order and force the caravan into a shorter line. This setup was far less secure, so she remained near the prisoners' new position. Thus it was that when the earth struck, Dawnwaker herself was on the outside edge of the crowd, rather than at the head of the line. And the earth did strike, with more ferocity than any of the group had felt before. The last of the caravan had just reached the center of the Span when they felt a tremor. The rumbling grew to overwhelm the warning cries, the stones beneath their feet shook and suddenly the entire bridge lurched. Cracks appeared and people began to run; the direction didn't seem to matter.

"Order!" Dawnwaker cried as loud as she could, but the quake hid her voice and those who might have heard paid no attention. Her mount tugged on the reins and tried to bolt, frantic, but she held on tightly. Still, the cat wove from side to side, trying desperately to get away from whatever horror it saw as coming after it. And then, as quickly as the earthquake had come, it subsided. The mighty Thandol Span still stood, and the mad rush gradually calmed into a shocked silence. Dawnwaker drew in a breath to shout orders; foreseeing the chaos that would come as the prisoners realized that they were intermixed with their captors and the latter had no way of controlling them. But before she could speak there was another noise, that of stone splitting. The ground beneath her feet shifted again and she let the saber have its head; it leapt for firm ground, but it was too late. She was on the edge of the crowd, and too far from the center of the bridge. A large part of Span gave way to the stress and fractured into pieces. She thought she heard several people call her name, saw a shape in the dust to her left also scrambling to gain safety, and then she was falling, falling far, down into nothing.


	9. Water and Mist

Ice and needles met her at the bottom. She plunged into the deep water that cut through the towering cliffs and desperately clawed her way to the surface, gasping. The water was angry, the earthquake had upset it as well, and several waves washed over her; she gasped again and again, struggling to breathe without also inhaling that which would drown her. Then there was something else in the water beside her; it brushed against her and she grabbed it without thinking. It swam easily through the swells and she found it was heading for something else in the water...the saber. Her mount was in slightly better shape than she was; it was strong and seemed to be swimming fine. She grabbed the reins from the water as she passed and the animal followed along. The beast she was holding on to pulled her along the cliffs for what seemed a long while, until finally it found what would have to be safe harbor for now. The cliffs rose sheer all around, but here one had formed a very small shelf just beneath the surface of the water. She let go of the creature and pulled herself up, followed by her mount who proceeded to shake the moisture out of its fur. She made no such attempt at drying off, only lay on her back on the partially submerged rock, glad for at least the illusion of safety. She closed her eyes briefly, but opened them again just in time to see the strange aquatic creature leap out of the water and with just a hint of shine and mist, transform into a night elf.

Immediately she jumped up and felt at her belt for her dagger (which had, of course, washed away). That failing her, she darted to her mount and pulled out a long knife that had been more securely fastened. The night elf held up his hands and then she recognized him, the druid. Perhaps she should have spoken then, but words failed her. She had fallen far and been dragged far through the water and was completely worthless now. It was he who spoke first.

"Are you hurt?"

This prompted her to actually take a self-inventory, and to her dismay the pain in her side had sharpened. It wouldn't do to let the night elf know that.

"I'll be fine."

"I'll go find something to eat." With only that he jumped back into the water, morphing into the sea creature and speeding away. She shoved the knife into her belt and stumbled back two steps to lean on the saber. While he was gone, she could make good use of her time.

She turned her attention to herself first. In addition to her daggers being gone, the heavy cloak she had been wearing had also been torn away. Everything else seemed to be intact, except for being very wet. Nothing would dry here either, as there was no actual dry ground. The small shelf of land was submerged in about 4 inches of water. Finishing that inventory, she turned to her mount. Its saddle was intact, as were the saddle bags, but the same could not be said of their contents. All of the food she had been carrying had either been washed away or ruined by the water. Many of her maps were a complete loss, her ink was diluted, any herbs she'd found had been destroyed. But the worst loss was Jeneira's salve. It was gone, box and all. She stared for a moment at the empty space, then began the painful process of peeling off her tabard and chestplate. The leather armor was of good enough make that getting wet wouldn't ruin it, but she frowned as she laid it aside all the same. Then she pealed her shirt up as far as the wound and carefully began unwinding the bandage.

It was as she thought. It had torn open again either in the fall or the swim and was seeping small amounts of blood. She pulled more wet bandages from a pack and rewrapped it carefully, trying to ignore the fact that she had no salve. This job was finished and the armor and tabard donned by the time the night elf returned with several fish, handing them to her in his water form before shifting back. She watched him carefully as he then hauled up several pieces of driftwood and began arranging them in the shaped of a small tent, adding the smaller bits to the very top. A flash of green made her tense, but as he held the glowing ball of energy beneath his little tower she felt a brief flash of admiration. Dry ground or no, he had figured out a way to dry the wood out enough to at least get a small fire, even if it wouldn't last very long.

But it would take a while. Eventually the green light took on a purple haze, and even with that increase in power, the wood only smoldered lightly.

"Where's a mage when you need one?" She started when the druid muttered under his breath, but his vocal frustration did not affect the steadiness of his spell. The light never flickered. After a few more moments, the tinder began to smoke slightly, and then even more. A moment more and there was a flame.

"Fish, quick."

She handed one to him without a word and he held it gingerly over the fire, turning it slowly. To her surprise the small flame did manage to singe the fish enough to at least take a bit of the rawness off, as she found when she scraped some of the scales off. She expected him to do the other fish as well, but he only threw two to the nightsaber and set the last one aside.

"I'll eat later."

Of course. He was a shapeshifter. It would be much easier to simply eat in one of those forms than take time to "cook" the other fish. The small fire was already going out. Dawnwaker leaned back on the nightsaber and tried to ignore the fact that she was sitting in water. Considering how soaked she was already there was no point in worrying about it, but that did nothing to make it comfortable. The night elf, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease sitting in the muck. She struggled to keep irritation at bay.

"So what are your plans, druid? Why haven't you flown away to Stormwind? Or did you have no plans beyond dinner?"

The night elf did not respond for a moment, looking instead back in the direct of the Thandol Span.

"I need to get back to the caravan."

Now there was an answer she had not expected. "And why in all of Azeroth would you want to return to captivity? You who attempted to escape?"

"Because the general and I are friends. Because the knights are my friends, and I'm accustomed to taking care of them. To not be able to do so is...uncomfortable."

She frowned. "What was your position in the guild?"

"Chief Healer."

Ah, that explained a few things. And for once, their goals appeared to coincide. Gether would do perfectly well in her absence, of course, but there were certain things concerning the journey that only she could accomplish. She needed to return to the caravan as soon as possible. That would not, of course, be tonight. She lay back against the nightsaber and closed her eyes, but she did not allow herself to fall asleep.

Seeing her apparent slumber, the night elf regained his water form, ate his fish, and settled down for the night as well. Perhaps he did not sleep either; she couldn't tell. But she remained watchful the whole night through.

The next morning the sun did not rise above the mist. A gray cloud enclosed the small ledge; all Dawnwaker could see of the druid was a vague shape that moved rather suddenly after hours of stillness. He stood and came into view.

"We should get moving now."

She did not point out that leaving her behind would be far easier, either the druid had not thought of this, or he had and was disregarding it for now. The advantage here was all his and she would make use of his apparent ignorance. The sooner they made landfall and she regained the upper hand the better. She turned to the nightsaber and began adjusting its rather empty packs so that what remained of their salvaged supplies might not be washed away. The druid moved to help and she shifted to put herself between him and the mount. If anything remained that she could do without help at the time, she would do it herself.

"I'll warn you, it'll be a day's swim at least to a place where we can climb the cliffs. More, if you want to just walk out of the water. It'll be rough and choppy."

"I can handle it." The tone of her voice was enough to still his reply, and he simply nodding before stepping off the ledge into deep water and shapeshifting. She looped one of the nightsaber's long reins around her arm and followed him, tossing the other length of rope into his waiting jaws. He snagged it with his mouth and she looped it around her other arm, then turned over to float on her back. He began swimming with a slight jerk and they were off, the nightsaber swimming a little to the side. She closed her eyes and simply concentrated on breathing between waves.

This journey was perhaps the most unpleasant experience of her entire life. They stopped twice for rest, but as there was nowhere to set their feet down the amount of rest had was questionable. The sunset was splitting the sky in the west when the druid stopped a third time and shifted into his night elf form.

"There, do you think?"

She looked where he pointed. The cliff was far lower here, and much less sheer. There were numerous ledges, some of which almost seemed to form a path. She and the druid would be able to climb it easily on a good day. But now they were tired, and there was a nightsaber in tow. It was nimble, perhaps it could make it.

"Let's try for it."

The druid went first and she wondered again why he did not simply fly up the cliff instead of struggling up an inch at a time, feeling with his hands for secure holds in the half-light. She watched him for the first bit to get an idea of the best way, then took a firm grip on the nightsaber's rope and began to follow. It would have been a difficult climb at best, now it was nearly impossible. Twice her weary fingers slipped and she barely caught herself, and the nightsaber slowed her down considerably. The last remnants of the day's light were vanishing when she neared the top and the night elf reached over to grab the back of her armor and haul her over the lip of the cliff. She collapsed and he wasted no time in taking the mount's rope and encouraging it up the last bits as well. Even in her half-stupor she saw that he would not be able to manage it by himself, so she dragged herself around within reach of part of its saddle and pulled with him. The animal was in as bad shape as they were and it took much prodding to get it to move several yards away from the edge and into a darker area.

There was no fire this night. Whatever thoughts she had of keeping watch Dawnwaker quickly abandoned, instead submitting to the unconsciousness that had been following her all day. The druid was probably wearier after having done all of the swimming. For now she had nothing to fear...

The next morning was even foggier than the last, if that was possible. She woke to find herself in a small hollow between two hills, with no clear idea of where the cliff's edge was, nor of where the druid might be. The large shape of the nightsaber next to a very small fire were her only indications of direction. She inched toward them slowly, every muscle in her body protesting. _Where'd he go, hmm?_She asked the nightsaber in her mind, but did not speak the words. She almost felt as if she might not be able to speak at all, so heavy was the mist. If she inhaled any more she might choke. Fumbling with the packs, she managed to pull out the spare cloak she kept and wrapped it tightly around herself as if to keep the fog at bay.

The figure of a cat appeared suddenly out of the muck and reflexes took over as she whirled to face it. It was smaller than her mount and she recognized the markings on its fur as soon as they became visible. The druid, of course. He plodded over to the fire and sank to the ground next to it. Thinking back, she realized she would have been surprised by his success in making a fire at all in this place had she not seen him do it on the ledge the day of the fall. She too relaxed and took a seat there. Somehow the druid's animal forms made him seem less of an enemy, perhaps because she could imagine him as a misshapen tauren rather than a night elf. If was this and her weariness that allowed the question to slip out, the question that she would never have asked anyone while she still had her maps and her wits about her.

"Where are we?"

The cat looked up her and she recoiled inside, for there was no mistaking those eyes for tauren eyes. They were unmistakably night elf. Any false sense of security she had been nursing vanished then and she became very aware of the dagger at her belt. She was still traveling with an enemy. The cat spoke then, his language slightly garbled as it passed through feline vocal cords.

"North part of the Wetlands, in the hills."

She shivered slightly. Though they were no longer immersed in water she could not imagine anything drying in this air, even after the sun burned off the mist. But how could even it banish such thick fog? And how would they find their way away from the cliff to the south? Perhaps the cat could see better than she could, but then she would have to put her trust in him again. That trust would only last so long.

"We should head to Menethil Harbor. We need supplies if we are to rejoin the caravan."

The druid's side heaved slowly with his labored breathing before he answered. "You won't be welcomed there. They would have supplied the caravan, but individual Horde will still be killed on sight."

"I don't intend to be seen, not as Horde anyway."

"It would be better if you stayed hidden outside the town. I'll take the mount in to get supplies and meet you down the road."

"No." Her voice was flat. "I am not trusting you with my mount, night elf. I do not leave its side, and as you are intending to rejoin the caravan and remain a prisoner, you do not leave my sight. I go with you into the Harbor for the supplies."

The cat was silent for a moment before he replied. "Do not expect my protection should you be discovered."

_I'll depend on your quick betrayal._ "I don't expect anything from you, night elf."

He changed form then and stood, and as he did she noticed that the mist had become much lighter. "My name is Tariq, Tariquelan Eventide. If you are to insult me you should at least called me by my name."

"Perhaps, night elf."

He looked at her a moment longer with stony eyes and then pointed in the direction he had come. "That is our way. We should leave now and make as much time as we can."

She stood to face him and drew her knife. "Not until you tell me exactly why you didn't leave me to drown."

By the expression on his face she knew the question was perfectly fair. The bruise from her questioning several days ago was still faint on his face, and to her mind there was no reason she had not been left behind long ago. From the way the druid shifted his eyes she could tell he had no good reason either. Healer's instinct then? Perhaps. But he had no answer and she wouldn't waste time waiting for nothing. She slid the knife back into her belt, took up the nightsaber's reins, and prodded it slowly to its feet. She wouldn't dream of riding the weary mount yet, so she followed the night elf on foot as they began the slow journey through the swamp.

Three days later, caked with mud and nursing scratches from a crocolisk attack, they found the road. The druid had been watching her closely for the past hour, as if he expected her to suddenly morph into a human. As she stepped onto the cobblestones that paved the track she obliged him by pulling up the hood of her cloak, covering her ears and plunging her eyes into shadow.

"There, night elf. Just another human traveler you met on the road."

His silence made his doubt clear.

"You don't approve? But of course you don't."

"Just the way you walk is enough to give you away."

"Well that shall be my concern and not yours. Let's get in and out as quickly as possible."

His jaw tightened and he did not reply; instead moving ahead a little faster pace. Still, she doubted they would reach the Harbor before night fell. That would be to her advantage. For now she moved closer into the night elf's shadow, attempting to think far back to before the Rising, when she had walked as a human. But her memories of that time were fading swiftly, and hadn't she walked with grace even then? Perhaps if she dragged her feet a little more...

"At least your accent is good."

She looked up at the druid in surprise, then quickly recovered and did not reply. Let him wonder how it was she spoke Common. The more she knew and the less he did, the better.

Eventually lanterns shone out of the gloom before their eyes. She kept hers down and half-lidded, and made certain that the hood was close around her face. Her glowing green eyes would be the thing to give her away here, rather than her ears. She would let the druid do the talking. As if she trusted him... But he greeted the guards easily and as they pointed in the direction of the inn she slipped through directly between them, just another cloaked figure in the night. The torches and lanterns hanging on the rotting buildings threw jet black shadows all over the place, assisting her further. But now the druid was heading straight for the inn. She put a hand on his arm, fingers digging into his skin as she clearly communicated _no._ He glanced down and shook her off, then reached down and hissed in a whisper.

"Do you think they would expect a traveler arriving at night not to seek the inn?"

She grimaced, but he was right. _I hate this Alliance town...the whole place reeks. _Really the smell was just that of stagnant water, but she had grown to hate it. The rot of the Undercity was at least a dead rot; this was all mildew, and it made her feel ill. Perhaps the inn would be better kept inside than out. But as they passed into the light of the doorway lanterns, something happened that destroyed all her hopes for anonymity. A fresh breeze was blowing in from the harbor, bringing with it the scent of the sea. It was so different from the stale air she had been drowning in for days that she could not help but turn her face toward it, to breathe it in if only for a moment. _It's possible that this is why these humans tolerate living in this place..._ But as she mused over this the breeze caught the edges of her hood and thrust it back, just as if it were the druid himself intent on exposing her.

For a moment nothing happened. The night elf had his back to her, and the man just inside the door was clearly too drunk to see straight. She froze there in the light, and her hand went to her hood to pull it back up, but it was too late. Another man joined the first and his eyes went lazily to the druid, then slid back to her and widened.

"Elf! Blood elf! Horde!"

His cry only had the effect of sparking a great howl of laughter from inside the inn, along with calls that admonished him to lay off the ale for a bit. But the druid's words came next and brought doom with them, spoken in a voice that was clearly sober.

"Well so it is. Shall we catch her?"

There was a sudden roar as the men shoved back chairs and stood, snatching up weapons and surging towards the door. Dawnwaker shrank back towards the shadows, taking time only to skewer the druid with a fiery glare before vanishing into the darkness. She was not a moment too soon. Only her skill and the drunkeness of the searchers kept her safe from their torchlight in those first moments, and by the time the guard had joined the search she had found an adequate hiding spot. They did not give up looking however, and all through the night there were at least some awake and more wary than usual. She ignored this and struggled to make herself more comfortable in the muck, keeping a close eye on the single ship docked at the wharf. If she were the druid she would make for this ship in the morning; it bore Stormwind's colors. She would be well rid of him too, but she needed her mount, and it's packs. They should have skipped Menethil Harbor altogether.


	10. Oathbound

The morning broke pale through the mist of the harbor, but the new sun did not change the gray hue from the evening before. Dawnwaker was used to golden sunrises, and this light served only to remind her of the choking rot in the air and the endless days of slogging through the swamp. The Wetlands! Never again. She rolled her head from side to side and heard her vertebrae crack, then carefully began unfolding limbs stiffened from a night on the ground. The mud she sat in had dried somewhat and it caked her cloak. She would need a new one.

The timbers above her creaked and she froze, head cocked as she listened carefully. One man, in armor. Not the druid. Still... She slipped slowly to the side of the pier she had spent the night under and eased the fingers of her left hand over the edge, eyes fasted on the guard that had just passed. He was wearing a very serviceable woolen cloak, and there was no one else around... Dropping her own cloak in the mud, she vaulted over the edge of the pier and crept behind the man on silent feet, smoothly slit his throat and caught him before he could fall. One hand held him while the other unclasped his cloak and removed the pouch hanging from his belt, and then she let him go. The splash when he hit the water was lost in the crashing waves. She wasted no time in donning the cloak and pulling up the hood, then cracked the pouch open. Silver, excellent. Now her first priority was to find her mount and get out of this wretched town immediately.

The ship from Stormwind was still docked and judging from the complete lack of activity around it, it wasn't departing any time soon. She turned her back and headed for the inn. There was no sign of the nightsaber there, nor at the stables or anywhere else in the port. Finally she risked speaking to one of the less alert men leaning up again one of the stone walls.

"Aye, I saw an elf. Left early this mornin' with Jan's trade caravan, on their way to Ironforge by way of Dun Algaz."

"Did he have a Darnassian Nightsaber with him?"

"Aye. What be the matter, eh? He owe you gold?"

She did not answer, but moved away quickly for her fists were clenching tighter and tighter. _He stole my mount. He stole it, and all of my supplies, and left me in a human town to ROT._ There were no horses to steal, for they were all in use, patrolling outside the wall. She could catch him on foot though. Trade caravans were notoriously slow. And when she did... Forcing her boiling blood down to a simmer, she found a baker and purchased a few loaves of bread, then moved to the gate. The guards were checking whoever wished to leave, but they let her through with only a glance at her stolen soldier's cloak. The mists finally served a good purpose as she vanished into them, down the road to the east.

Murderous thoughts filled her mind as feet trod lightly, carrying her at a brisk pace. _Endhi_ or not, her mercy no longer extended to him, for now he knew exactly what he had done. In doing this to her he had asked for her knife in his chest. She would give it to him gladly. She made good time, but she had not eaten enough the past few days, in addition to hardly sleeping. So it was with great reluctance that she camped the first night, and the second, sleeping soundly in the safest places possible among the rocky cliffs that rose south of the road. She also took a detour to avoid several small alliance camps, and some areas patrolled by ogres. Further hindrances such as the need to hunt for food also slowed her down. So it was that the caravan reached Dun Algaz before her, but a quick word to the guard at the entrance of the passes and tunnels assured her that she was not far behind. She doubled her pace.

Several hours and two tunnels later, she emerged from the darkness to hear the sound of clanging steel echoing off the cliffs that towered all around, followed by loud cries and screams. Gritting her teeth she burst into a run up the steep slope, mapping a path that led her behind rocks and through shallow gullies. At last...there was the trade caravan, or what was left of it. The remains of one wagon lay splintered on the ground; the rams in the shattered harness lay in a pool of blood. Apparently the rest of the wagons had gained the safety of the next tunnel, but those who remained behind to guard their flank had paid a heavy price. Even now the last few humans and dwarves fled up the hills away from the Dragonmaw orcs who now seem little interesting in pursuit and far more concerned with cutting down any foes who remained within their reach. That list was fast becoming only the lone night elf, who had become cut off from the others, his path up the mountain blocked by a looming orc wielding a very ugly looking axe.

Dawnwaker took all this in at a glance and quickly spotted her nightsaber. She had trained it for combat, but with no loyalty to the druid it had quickly adopted a defensive posture and was now tucked back in a rocky niche mostly out of site of the skirmish, growling lowly. She slid carefully towards its position, keeping an eye on the fading battle. There was another cry as the last human had his spine severed in his attempt to flee, and with his demise every orc eye turned toward the night elf. He had been holding his own, but now the numbers tipped against him severely, and though seeing him dead would give her nothing but pleasure, Dawnwaker did not want him to die at the hand of these ambushers. Not when she was close enough to do the deed herself.

She reached the nightsaber and began speaking softly to it as she reached to unbuckle the saddlebags and packs. With this many opponents, she would need its help, but it was no good in this panicked state. Fortunately it calmed down quickly under her hand and followed her silently as she edged closer to the battle along the rocks. She was in striking distance not a moment too soon. At that particular moment the most danger to the night elf came in the form of a spear held by one of the orcs. All of her focus bent on him, and from there she slipped into the battle mind, red around her vision as she focused all of her energy on dealing death. The first orc received a knife to the chest, followed by a quick disembowelment. The next had his throat slit and after that it became a game of tag with the large orc wielding the axe. She managed to cut him several times, but this barely slowed him down. If she had had room to think she would have lamented her lack of poison, but in this mindset if-onlys had no place in her thoughts.

Then suddenly came the moment she needed. Her nightsaber finished with its orc and turned on her target at the same moment the druid dispatched his foe and joined the fray. Three opponents was too many for the big orc and he was quickly overwhelmed, though whether he went down by the saber's fangs, the druid's claws, or her knife, she could never say. When he lay dead on the ground the druid immediately groaned and collapsed, shifting back into his elf form. Dawnwaker did not stop moving and was on top of him with her knife to his throat before he could blink. He did, however, manage to grab her wrist and prevent the killing blow long enough to whisper a faint _please_. Somehow, against her will, she paused. For the first time since the Thandol Span, she looked directly into his eyes. In one moment they gave away everything: his weariness, his resignation, his grief. Not just any grief, but the grief of an _endhi. _One who knew that he would never see the world of his birth again, for all worlds ended here. _She_ would be the one to end them. He would die here, far away from any friends, where his body would be mutilated by the orcs that roamed this pass, or at best freeze into a caricature of former life. She grit her teeth. She had killed _endhi_ before. This was no different. His grip on her wrist loosened.

_He stole your mount and left you to rot in the Harbor. He hindered the caravan at every point, even caused some death. He deserves to die. In every way and fashion he deserves to die. The sentence is fair. _

_Fair. That is all I operate on these times. Why fair?_

_Justice. It guides you. As it should._

_And mercy? Has that been stripped from me?_

_You have shown mercy. You spared them in the Undercity. You shepherded them through Lordaeron. You spared him under the bridge! You have shown more than enough mercy. More would be folly._

_Under the bridge...he saved my life. _

_Irrelevant. He left you to die in the Harbor!_

_He spared me drowning. You speak of justice?_

_Yes, justice. He deserves death!_

_So do I by that count. _

_So do we all. But he is the one under the knife._

_I tortured him. He stole my mount. All is even on that score. But then he saved my life. The scale has not been balanced there. Justice...fairness...I should let him live._

_This journey has driven you insane!_

_You would take even justice from me now?_

_What you propose is treason!_

_What I propose is life._

"I can help you."

The weak voice cut into her thoughts and she forced down a snarl at the interruption.

"Two are better than one."

She sneered. "My mount fights as well as you do."

"But your mount cannot heal."

She glared at him, her blade quivering as the voices inside her head warred for supremacy. At last she removed it and shoved it back into her belt as she got to her feet. Reaching down, she hauled the night elf up by his armor to his knees. At that height she could look him in the eye.

"You have given me no reason to trust you in any way. Your life is yours, paid for at the Thandol Span and in the sea. That record is now finished and you must earn whatever else you ask for."

The elf swayed a bit, obviously on his last stores of strength, but he managed a nod. Assured he wasn't going anywhere, she retrieved the packs and lashed them back on her mount. Then she found a length of rope and bound the elf's hands securely behind his back. As she moved to fasten the other end to the saber's tack, the druid spoke once more.

"How...would I earn...my name?"

She looked at him sharply. His voice was raspy as if he were in desperate need of a drink, but she heard him clearly enough. Hearing was not equivalent to understanding.

"What?"

"For you to call me by my name. How do I earn that?"

She glared, her jaw set.

"Be grateful for your life today, druid. Think about luxuries later. Now walk."

He stumbled forward at her push and she led the nightsaber behind, keeping a careful watch on him and the cliffs above and below. This area had plenty more orcs where the others had come from and she was not interested in being around when they discovered the bodies of their brethren.

They made camp well inside the next tunnel when the evening light had long faded from the distant entrance. The night elf collapsed without a sound and Dawnwaker immediately tied his feet before preparing the rest of the camp.

"This isn't going to work you know," he said, speaking hoarsely.

She gave him a kick as she finished and began searching the saddlebags for food. "Shut it."

"But-"

"I said shut it."

She kept watch for the whole night but the druid never moved, and no dwarves came through the tunnel. The next morning she had them leave early in hopes of reaching Loch Modan before sundown, but the unlikelihood of that quickly became evident. She was greatly fatigued due to her chase and lack of sleep; he was still drained from the battle. They made it no farther than the last tunnel before they made camp. Once again she tied his feet and once again he protested.

"Quiet," she hissed. Sound traveled easily in these tunnels and she did not want to see the sentries from the other end descend on the camp in the night.

"You have to listen to me." He spoke just as quietly and this beyond anything else caused her to pause.

"There's no way you can walk through all of Loch Modan with a captive night elf, even with a disguise."

"And I suppose your suggestion is to just unbind you and we walk past all the dwarves like the best of friends?"

"Yes, that's the basic idea, though I had something more like 'barely acquaintances' in mind."

Dawnwaker laughed mockingly. "And how can I be certain that you'll not just betray me and run off with my mount and all the supplies at the first opportunity?"

"I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

"Impossible."

He was silent for a few moments and Dawnwaker went back to unstrapping her bedroll, content that the matter was closed.

"I'll give you my word. I'll swear an oath."

She looked up. "An oath? What could you possibly swear by that would induce me to believe you?"

The night elf swallowed and was silent for so long that she almost went back to the business of camp, but he cleared his throat softly.

"I would swear by the sun that sets on the Pacific Ocean and the sand that covers it's beaches, and by the stone of the Rocky Mountains and all the green earth in between."

She stilled at this, the mention of names belonging to far away places she had known before the Rising, so long before any of this.

"You were from the west coast."

He nodded. She frowned and thought for a long moment.

"And what would you swear, druid?"

"I would swear to remain with you, to not leave your side or betray you to any hostile forces, and not to take your mount for myself but to remain your prisoner until you release me into the hands of the Alliance before the Dark Portal, so long as I remain free to my own will."

She nodded. "Swear it then, by what you have said."

"I so swear, and by that oath may I be bound, lest you bind me again."

Her mouth twisted at this. "I'll hold you to this oath, night elf, lest I see fit to dissolve it." Wasting no time, she moved over and undid the knots around his wrists, leaving him to free his own feet. He leaned over to do so, only to find her mouth by his ear.

"And I swear this to you, by the sun that rises over the Atlantic. If you betray my trust even once, your life is forfeit, and I shall take it quickly."

She backed away and shoved the knife into her belt with a ring. The druid's eyes were fastened on his knots, and he began to undo them slowly and deliberately. Just as deliberately, she turned her back and lay down on her bedroll, pulling her hood up over her ears as a precaution against any stray dwarves who saw fit to wander the pass in the night. For the first time in days she slept soundly.

* * *

They heard the wind at the mouth of the tunnel long before it came in sight. The sound echoed down to them, a wailing keen that grew steadily stronger with each step they took. Their footsteps echoed upward in return and announced their approach to a pair of guards who greeted them with obvious pleasure where the stone of the tunnel gave way to a hard packed road. Though it was only midmorning and Dawnwaker was insistent on continuing their journey the dwarves persuaded them to take a short rest and have some of the hot cider that was apparently kept stocked at their little hovel. The druid was clearly as enthused about this as the dwarves were, so rather than argue Dawnwaker gave in and thus found herself ushered over to a fire and found a warm mug thrust into her hands. She reached up to adjust her hood carefully before taking a sip.

The two dwarves were rattling on about the caravan that had just come through the day before, alternatively smiling and frowning as the night elf relayed the good news of survival and the bad news of who had fallen. When they asked about her, he said that she was a traveler who had simply happened along at the right time to help him out of his situation, and as they were both traveling south, they had simply gone on together. He said this all without looking at the dwarves, his eyes fastened on hers as she sipped from her mug of cider. She returned his stare without saying a word and the dwarves chattered on, oblivious of this and obviously just glad to have someone to talk too. Dawnwaker got the idea that with winter coming on trade had fallen off, and the traffic through Dun Algaz was not what it was in the summer. Of course saying winter was coming on was relative; down in the Wetlands they would barely call it autumn, but here in the mountains the clouds already looked thick with snow. She wrapped her cloak around herself a little more closely, taking comfort in the fact that they would soon be heading back downhill, and into the sweltering regions of the volcanic mountains to the south.

All the while she watched the druid, and when he'd finally seemed to have had enough, she stood and pointedly began edging toward the road. He joined her and with a last round of farewells from the dwarves, they were off again. Now she walked rather than ride the nightsaber, for even she was willing to admit that it would be easier to pass it off as the night elf's mount.

"I told you."

She glanced up at him. He had a smug expression on his face that wasn't quite a smile and was clearly pleased to be proven right regarding the fact that he needed to be free to avoid suspicion here. She wasn't about to indulge him further and instead turned her face back to the road without answering him. The silence lasted a few more moments before he broke it again.

"Well as long as we're traveling together we might as well be civil."

She glanced at him again with a thinly veiled glare this time. "I am being civil."

"Silence isn't civil."

"The moment I have something civil to say to you, I will."

He had no reply for that and she did not attempt anything further. The silence continued until they made camp for the night, and he finally broke it with a question.

"I suppose you have a plan for when we reach Thelsamar?"

Dawnwaker gave the last stake of her tent a light kick and hunkered down in front of the small fire the druid had kindled. "We'll make camp a little way out from the town. You can stay in the inn if you like, but I'm not going to enter another Alliance village for a long time if I can help it. You'll go into the town and get the supplies we need, and we'll be on our way the following morning."

He nodded. "No time for a real rest then?"

"We can rest when we catch the caravan."

"True enough." He stood. "We should be fine without a watch this close to the road. You should get some rest."

She gave him a look that told him exactly what she thought of that suggestion. He winced and turned to duck into his tent. In all reality he was right, but she was not going to give him the pleasure of that more than she absolutely had to. Still, the moment he disappeared, she turned and entered her tent as well. With Algaz station only a few hours walk behind them and regular mountaineer patrols up this road there really was no need for either of them to stand watch in the freezing cold wind. This was as safe a camp as they were likely to have for a long while. Safe for a night elf and a human, that was. As a blood elf she felt considerably jumpy.

The fire cast a moderate amount of light through the canvas of her tent and she stripped her armor off as quickly as she could to have a look at her side. She had survived the past two days by gritting her teeth and ignoring it, but now that they were no longer camping in tunnels the tents had been brought out and she had the privacy required. It was a testament to the night elf's utter weariness that she had been able to hide the wound from him this long. Either that or he was a rotten healer. She peeled the old bandages away with a wince and closed her eyes at what she saw beneath them. It was as if the wound had grown rather than healed at all. Certainly the rush through the swamp and the fight on the pass had not been helpful, but they had apparently done more than simply open up the wound again. It was obviously infected, and more puss oozed from it even as she began wrapping it in a fresh bandage. When they reached Thelsamar she would have to sneak into the town and somehow find some medicine to steal. A small voice in the back of her head murmured that there was a healer in the next tent over, but she silenced it quickly. She was doing a great deal by letting him walk free, but her trust did not expand to openly discussing weaknesses with the enemy. With a sigh and a hope that her exhaustion would cause her to sleep despite the pain, she settled back in her bedroll and tried to think of home, her real home. For once she was back there, all this would not matter one wit. There would be no killing, no bedrolls on hard ground, no freezing camps, and no wounds. But the fitful sleep she fell into did not reflect her hopes.


	11. Through the Cold Mountains

The next two day trek was possibly the easiest they had experienced since departing the road before the Alterac Mountains, but rather than taking advantage of this their pace decreased and their progress slowed. In Dawnwaker's case it was her wound's effect that caused her stride to shorten, and she supposed the night elf must simply be matching his pace to hers, for there was no other reason she could see for his lack of speed. The road here was wide and well-traveled, and this more than made up for the increasingly icy winds that cut through their cloaks and the occasional flurry of snow. A few dwarves pass them here and there, but Dawnwaker merely kept her hood and cloak wrapped tightly around her, something that was not amiss in this climate. Her brief bouts of dizziness were getting more difficult to hide, however. Perhaps the night elf's slowness was less in reaction to her and more due to his being deep in thought. He certainly didn't seem to notice much these days.

This soon began to annoy her far more than his previous antics had. _She_ had a good reason not to be hurrying after the caravan: she was already making as much time up as she physically could. He seemed to have no such hindrances, so he ought to be eager, pulling ahead in his desire to catch them. Perhaps he was not so anxious to return to captivity after all, she mused, though his theft of her mount at Menethil implied otherwise. These thoughts added to his general inscrutable expression and her frustration at having to constantly hide herself resulted in a very sour attitude. She spent most of the easy journey alternatively glaring at him from underneath her hood and trying to push herself to go a little faster. Unfortunately that meant leaning on the mount for support, which was as good as screaming about her side, but he seemed not to notice even this. That only made her more irritable and so by the time they reached Thelsamar she was more than ready to kill him on the grounds of being a rotten traveling companion instead of the usual Alliance-related reasons. He, of course, had no idea of any of this, and as they stopped on a sheltered, level space off the road and began to unload the nightsaber's packs, he turned with an absently contented smile and asked what she wanted him to get from the town. She handed him a list with silence and a frosty look. That seemed to get through, as he frowned and moved off through the trees with the mount, leaving her to set up camp.

His return actually did a little to lessen the weight of her scowl, and as she began to sort through the packages that he had brought back she had to give him a very little grudging admiration. He had gotten everything she had asked for, and the finest of all for the least amount of coin possible. He had also made his purchases in such a way that they would have all that they needed without burdening the nightsaber or themselves too severely. She spent the rest of the evening unwrapping and rewrapping the supplies, keeping a count of everything since it seemed the thing to do. There were two new tents of much better quality than the one she had salvaged from the fall off the bridge and the one he had bought in Menethil Harbor. In addition there were new bedrolls and blankets, and changes of shirts, tunics, and leggings for both of them, a second cloak for her (his was still good), and new boots. Her current pair _was_ very nearly worn through. He had had the nightsaber's saddle and rig repaired, and bought a new saddlebag that was stuffed with the kind of long-lasting, tough-but-filling food usually preferred by smaller groups of travelers. There were also several flasks of some liquid that he set down pointedly near his tent. Dawnwaker didn't bother asking, as she recalled quite clearly the way his voice had been parched after the fight. Here also was the parchment she had asked for, with the pens and vials of ink, and here were some maps of the surrounding lands that she had not asked for. At this she paused and looked over to where the night elf was bent over his own small case of supplies.

What was his name? He had told her once, but she had not bothered to remember it. Now she wished she had. The gift of the maps might indeed be just what he needed to do to "earn his name" as he had asked her a few days ago. She looked back down at the detailed map of Loch Modan and ran a hand lightly over it. These were not enough to replace all those that had been lost in the fall, but they were a start. A very good start. She frowned, but the corners of her mouth had softened somewhat. Then she remembered his apparent blindness as a healer, and his theft of her mount and the frown deepened once more. Still...there were the maps.

Night fell swiftly in the winter and she made as if to turn in before he did, then lay quietly until she saw his shadow enter his tent and the fire burned down to coals. Did he always sit staring into the light like that? No, for that would have ruined his night vision. Here was the only time she had seen that happen, safely near a town where there was no need to keep a watch at night. Her lips twisted at the thought. Safe, near an Alliance town. What a joke.

When she was certain he was asleep she eased carefully out of her tent and slipped across the camp. There was really no need to worry about being seen or heard, for this was her specialty. Here, in the darkness, lay her talents. She moved quickly through the trees in an attempt to keep warm; despite the cold she had left her cloak back in the tent, lest it catch on anything and snare her. On a normal outing she would have worn one simply to conceal her silhouette, but when roofwalking was involved a cloak quickly became a hazard. She had, however, taken the time to wrap the upper bits of her ears in strips of cloth so that they lay flat against her head. That was one silhouette she could not risk being seen. As she came closer to the rim of the small gully that housed Thelsamar she moved with more caution. There were guards about here. Fortunately their positions were easy enough to mark by the torchlight and she crept forward on her stomach to the very edge of the drop-off without incident and peered over.

The drop would not be called a cliff per say, but neither was it a slope. It descended at a steep angle that was not quite sheer, and the bottom was hidden among the roofs of buildings that were established half-in half-out of the stony side. All were obviously made of stone, blasted dwarves, so there would be no springy thatching to drop into. But the side of the drop was also stone, and unfinished stone at that, so with great care in might conceivably be scaled. As she began habitually mapping a way down, Dawnwaker found a little disbelief rise that such potential should be wasted and the town left with such little defense. Anyone could slip in here! But then she remembered that she was deep in Alliance territory, and the woods around held little more than a few bears who would avoid such a populated area anyways. The real value of this location lay exactly in its position, it was built to defend against the harsh winter storms that swept through these mountains. There was no need to smooth a rock face down to keep the weather out. Snow did not need handholds.

She made the descent as quickly as possible. While she would have preferred to climb in one of the spots in complete shadow, that was impossible due to the fact that she could not see any of the footholds. Places where torchlight was thrown glaringly on the wall were obviously out as well, so she settled on a route that seem somewhat in between the two. Still she felt safer once her feet were planted on the ground between two of the buildings where no light reached. Now to find the apothecary, or whatever passed for one here. Silently she explored the sleeping town, peering in windows and easing open doors. On her fifth try she found it, a small place with shelves all lined with vials. Upon closer examination she found this must also be an alchemist's workshop, for there were other sorts of potions mixed in with the medicine. Her fingers eventually found the little pots of creams and salves and she examined each one carefully in the dim light from the torches out the windows, smelled them, and rubbed bits between her fingers. In the end she came away with two: one clearly labeled to be for treating infections and the other that seemed to be for drawing out poisons. Neither were what Jeneira had given her, but they would probably hold her until they caught the caravan and she could pick up some more when it stopped to resupply at Kargath in the Badlands. Surely they would catch it before then, despite the necessary detour to Menethil Harbor. She had practically flown through the rest of the Wetlands in her pursuit of the druid. She frowned again then and placed the two pots in her bag, made sure it was secured to her belt, and slipped out of the building, flitting from shadow to shadow until she found the place she had climbed down. Knowing the handholds made the second trip much faster, but as she neared the top the sensation of something being _different_ struck her and she froze. The lip of the "cliff" was now softly illuminated in torchlight. Now she heard a grunt and the sloshing of some liquid in a waterskin. Then came a strange noise that she realized was spitting. He was spitting seeds. Apparently the guard had picked this spot to settle down in for a bit and have a midnight snack. She closed her lips against a curse and hung there against the rock face for a long moment before inching to the side. The dwarf above was loud enough to block out any sound she might make, but she quickly realized that to move laterally meant going from the half-light into deep shadow. Twice she almost slipped as she reached for a handhold that wasn't really there, but at last she was able to pull herself up out of reach of the guard's torch.

She didn't waste a second glance at him, but fled into the woods and back to the camp. The druid did not appear to have moved from his tent and even the coals of the fire had nearly gone out. She slipped into her tent and began shivering violently as her safety sunk in and adrenaline faded, but she couldn't wrap herself up in her new bedroll and blankets yet. With trembling fingers she undid the buckles and latches of her chestguard and shoved it away, then did the same with her belt and felt under her tunic for the old bandages. A horrible stench rose as she began to peel them off and she almost gave up right then, but with great effort she grit her teeth and peeled them all off. Now lightheaded with the pain and the smell, she stumbled out of her tent once more to stoke the dying coals and throw the dirty bandages into the tentative flames. They devoured them eagerly then faded when they found no more fuel, but Dawnwaker had already turned back to her tent. She had intended to clean the wound again tonight, but the thought of water at this temperature made her shudder, and in the end she just smeared the new salves over the wound and bound it up again as her teeth chattered uncontrollably. Then she had just enough time to conceal the two little pots in her pack and wrap herself in blankets before falling asleep.

* * *

Fire met her in the morning, as if a dagger had been thrust into her wound. A small cry escaped before she could muffle it, and she quickly reached down and tore the bandages from her side. The wound looked different than it had before; the skin around it was much paler than the angry red it had been. Little though she knew about healing, she was certain that the ashen color wasn't a good sign. A new sense of urgency overcame her and she scrambled for her stolen salves, wrapping the wound and pulling on armor with a frenetic energy than made less sense than she had previously known herself for. Short thoughts pounded through her head: _the caravan...there are healers with the caravan..._ Though there were none of Jeneira's skill. _Kargath. There will be skilled healers in Kargath._ Never mind that it was over a week's travel away, she shoved her things into her packs like she could be there today.

"Captain Dawnwaker?"

She froze at the voice that came from directly outside her tent. The druid. That brought her back from her panic. She had to stay in control of the situation, and the situation was simply that she could not travel fast. She dropped the tunic in her hand and put her palm to her forehead. Two people with healthy mounts would easily cover more ground than a caravan and could catch it quickly. But two people, one wounded, with one mount between them... Could they even catch the caravan before Kargath?

"Dawnwaker?"

She pushed the pack at her feet aside angrily and surged to her feet, pushing the tent flap out of the way only to come to an abrupt halt in order to not crash into the night elf. He took a single step back and stood there blinking at her as her eyes darted around in search of whatever might have managed to cause him concern. But there was nothing, only the nightsaber's packs lying on the ground half-full, the ashes of the fire, and the sun, two hand-breadths over the ridge of the nearest peaks. She turned back to her tent so as to hide the flush in her face from the druid. He didn't need to say anything. It was already midmorning, and they should have been well on their way, only she had somehow not woken at her usual time and he had not disturbed her, only packed the rest of the camp up. She ducked back under the flap and threw everything back into the two packs and tossed them outside, then began dismantling and rolling the tent. He strapped it to the mount's harness and handed her her pack without a word, and they began their slow, steady walk down the road.

The druid spoke once to two dwarves they met a little way south, and greeted another human who passed them just before sundown. He was a courier in a hurry, but not so great a hurry that he had no time to stop briefly by their camp and trade some information about the road. Dawnwaker made herself busy with the mount's tack and kept her face turned away while they spoke, not willing to risk catching the man's eye. That would not be an immediate problem, of course, for he would die easily, but then the druid would be unhappy and would potentially cause more problems, and the courier's message would not be delivered, people would know he was missing... It would all spiral into disaster. Best she just keep her face averted. The voices stopped and she turned to see that the courier had not gone, but was adjusting some of his gear and casting curious glances in her direction. Her hands went to her cloak, but to her surprise the night elf was there first, tucking the edges around her as if to make certain she was warm enough. She kept her face carefully blank as the man gave her one last look before hauling himself back into the saddle and moving up the road toward Thelsamar. She pulled away from the druid and he released her cloak immediately and moved back to the fire as she drilled him with the most hateful glare she could muster. He spoke over his shoulder before she could act on her frustration.

"I was just hiding your tabard. Don't be so testy."

She stopped and looked down. Her much-worn tabard was indeed peeking from underneath the cloak, the navy blue glaring against the white fur, and parts of the dagger and shield emblem clearly visible. If the courier had known of the caravan, or seen it, and had recognized the symbol... The flush crept into her cheeks again and she turned back to the nightsaber. The druid was merely keeping his word not to betray her to anyone. He was acting rationally, where she more and more often was not. Perhaps it was the pain distracting her. Perhaps not. The nightsaber settled down with a low growl, but she fussed with one of the harnesses for a bit longer until the scent of meat finally drew her to the fire. The druid handed her a trencher filled with food, and she made a point of looking him in the eye as she took it.

"I'm going to be candid. At the rate we're going I don't think we can catch the caravan before they reach Kargath." She didn't mention the reasons she knew for their slow pace, and the druid didn't remark on her injury if he knew anything. He only looked up into the fading light as if attempting to follow a scent in the air, then he nodded.

"Winter seems to be coming fast to Loch Modan. There is no official road from Thelsamar to Kargath. I assume your plan was to cut through the mountain passes to the east?"

She nodded. Gether would certainly not have deviated from the basic plans for the route, knowing that supplies would be needed.

"I think they'll just make it, but I also think that should we try to follow, we would find ourselves delayed by drifts and would only arrive at Kargath to find them gone."

Dawnwaker nodded again. "My thoughts as well. So," she pulled out the new map of Loch Modan, "we'll go this way instead. Directly south to the tunnel to the Searing Gulch and we'll intercept them as they come from Kargath." Hopefully she had kept the tightness out of her voice. If she should collapse from this blasted wound before they could find the caravan again...well, she actually was not sure what the druid would do. Perhaps he would not leave her behind. Not now. But there was nothing to reassure her of that.

* * *

Despite the fact that they were slowly losing altitude, the daily flurries of snow became thicker and thicker. The high mountain winds kept the flagstone road mostly clear, but by the second day out from Thelsamar there was no grass visible and the green of the fir trees was only intermittent. All of Dawnwaker's focus went to covering as much ground as she could as quickly as possible, and this goal served as an adequate distraction against the plummeting temperatures. The druid had pointed out that they would be in the Searing Gorge by the time the real winter storms hit, and by Midwinter they would be far south enough that the amount of snow wouldn't be an issue. This was small comfort in her current position. At least the nightsaber radiated heat. She stuck close to the mount for that reason and for the few times she lost her footing and stumbled. The druid appeared not to notice. They met two more travelers that day, but there was no danger of recognition as bundled up as she was, and in this weather no one looked askance at a hood and mask. She smiled grimly beneath the wool; perhaps this climate had its perks after all. By the end of the second day they had passed the southernmost guard tower and were well into the Valley of Kings. But it wasn't until they were approaching the gate itself that she realized an error in her plan. Several guards were stationed before the entrance to the long tunnel, and unlike the ones to the north, they were on their feet and very alert. Dun Algaz led to more Alliance territory, but beyond this tunnel was a no-man's land. Certainly there were small outposts in the Searing Gorge, and it was mostly dwarves that had ventured there, but, she remembered hearing an old dwarf tell her once, a long time ago, "only pain comes up out o' _those_ mountains." These sentries were there to make certain that nothing dangerous boiled out of that darkness, but also to make certain that travelers were fit to go _in._ Only after you were inspected would the guard produce the key and unlock the mechanism that raised the steel bars.

She stopped, pulling the nightsaber to a halt as well. The night elf went on a few more paces before turning with a questioning look on his face. Another cold wind blasted down from the mountain heights above them and she tightened the scarf around her face as she pointed below them and explained what she knew. He shrugged in reply, the motion barely visible under his layers of cloaks and armor.

"We'll do what we've done this whole time; you just keep your head down."

The fury that tried to rise in her did nothing to warm her now, though she tried to use it for extra strength as she had in the past. Instead her vision blurred for a moment as she stumbled against the nightsaber's side for support. What she had been able to fake for the other travelers they passed would not work with these guards, and in her mind's numbed state she could think of only one solution. It would be difficult for her now, and the druid's help would be welcome, but he couldn't be a part of this, necessary though it was.

"You wait here, I won't be a moment." She drew her knife and started toward the trees on silent feet, glad for the waning daylight. Three would be difficult-her vision blurred again-but with enough surprise perhaps she could-

"You can't kill them!"

The druid's voice echoed off the mountainsides and she spun furiously, though she knew the sentries were far enough below them to not hear anything more from that than indistinct words in a male voice. His eyes betrayed him: he had yelled on purpose. Now the anger would give her strength; she moved back toward him with a suddenly certain stride.

"If you can come up with a better plan to get through and can manage to retrieve it from that rock you call a brain then spit it out! But I'm going down there, and I'd like to see you try to stop me!" She brandished the knife at him, knowing full well that she was a better fighter than the healer, then spun around and made for the woods again. She didn't make it far.

She didn't even hear him move before he was behind her. With one hand he grabbed her wrist and spun her around, and slammed her back against a tree. It shuddered, spilling snow from high branches that hit the ground with her dagger. Though she had tried to grasp it harder her strength was nearly gone. The night elf held her firm by both arms and looked her hard in the eye. She glared back and bared her teeth, bringing one hand up to free herself and another to strike him in the face, but both arms moved too slowly. He captured both wrists in one hand now and wrapped the other around her throat, effectively silencing her. She struggled harder now, but her air was going fast and darkness crept at the corners of her mind. The druid said something about rushing mindlessly in to deal death, and then the last thing she thought she saw was an odd look in his eyes, rather than the anger or cold malice that should have been there.

* * *

Tariquelan Eventide kept his grip steady until the blood elf went limp, and even then he did not release her hands until he had peeled up an eyelid and made certain she was unconscious. Though he was worn down from the journey so far and still had not completely recovered from the ambush in Dun Algaz, the rogue was easy to carry back up to the nightsaber. Something was obviously wrong with her; she was far thinner than when he had first seen her in the Undercity, or even at the Thandol Span. Her skin was hot with fever that he could feel even through his gloves, and her eyes had a glassy look to them. Still, he could nothing more for her than watch until she told him exactly what was wrong. It wasn't simple illness, nor merely the weariness of travel; he had kept a close eye on her the past few days and had finally deduced that if she was wounded it was somewhere on her torso rather than her limbs, though her legs weren't likely to go unmarked if she kept stumbling. Shifting the packs around he lifted her into the nightsaber's saddle without much effort and strapped her in carefully. Now she only looked as if she were sleeping, and should look that way until they were past the sentries and down the tunnel a ways. He had put her knife away in the packs just in case, though.

As he made his way down the steep valley to the gate and spoke to the sentries his mind continued to battle with the same dilemma that had consumed it for days now. He had sworn his oath and would keep it, but the blood elf was rapidly turning into the very thing she had captured in the Undercity and was now charged with delivering to the Alliance. A soldier mad with bloodlust. The captain he had observed early in the journey had been an angry, smoldering individual from the start, but she had proven herself a good leader and had taken care of the caravan very well, until after Tarren Mill. Perhaps it was the fever that had set her off, along with help from the evils that stalked the Arathi Highlands, but that was when he had seen that it was time to get out and find help for any that remained within her reached. That plan had failed spectacularly. Now, however, she had devolved almost completely into what she tried to stop. Mindless bloodshed. The sentries let him through, content with his explanation of their being in a great hurry and his companion simply needing sleep so that she could stand watch through the night. The iron grate slid shut behind them with a clang. What to do? The problem would be solved on its own at this rate: whatever was causing the fever would kill her. But if it didn't, he would be placing his people back under her care, care that was rapidly fading if it wasn't gone already. After making camp he stared into the darkness for a long time. Best to let her die. In fact…the oath he had sworn had not said a single word about not killing her as she slept. The knife strapped to one of the packs glistened a little in the firelight and he eyed it thoughtfully, then the still shape in the bedroll at his feet.

But no, he was a healer. It went against everything he was to murder someone so helpless as she was now. Even to protect his people? Yes, even then. Perhaps she would see what was happening before they caught the caravan. Perhaps she would die first. But it would not be of his doing. With a sigh he leaned back against the stone and turned his head toward the Gorge end of the tunnel, watchful for anything that might venture up. When she woke he would mix more of his herbs into her food, just as he had been doing. They did nothing but give her a little more energy, perhaps they would be ineffective at this point, but it was all he could do. How hard it was for a healer to do nothing! But now it was his lot, so he only watched, and waited.


	12. Ashes

The darkness seemed to retreat reluctantly as she struggled back to awareness, but even with her eyes open it seemed to press around her. Dawnwaker blinked slowly several times, fearing blindness, before the flickering of firelight reassured her and she realized that the darkness only came as far as the torchlight would allow it, and that she was not falling through a gulf but rather installed quite safely on a solid stone floor. Further careful thought revealed that she must be in the tunnel, somewhere deep within the Stonewrought Pass. But how had she come here? Remembrance came with the rasping as she tried to take a breath and she raised a trembling hand to her throat. There would be bruises there. Now she became aware of the night elf sitting a little bit away from her, his wrists on his knees and his hands empty of any weapons. His eyes were not on her, but focused down the tunnel, watchful, though judging by the coals of the fire they had been here many hours. She flicked her eyes over to the restlessly sleeping nightsaber and the packs piled near it; there was her knife. Perhaps, if she moved quickly enough… But even the small shift in position she attempted in order to gauge her strength proved to be almost more than she could handle. With a shudder she relaxed again, only to find the druid's eyes on her. He stood smoothly and moved to rouse the mount.

"We should get going if we've any hope of catching the caravan."

She tried to breathe in deeply again, but her throat ached in protest even as her lungs screamed for more air. Even his simple statement was enough to cast her mind back into the fog, and she struggled to grasp what now seemed to be a long-term goal in comparison to the simple task of standing and walking. The night elf seemed to pay her no mind as he moved about, securing the packs to the nightsaber's rig and cleaning up any other indication of their presence. The coals from the fire scattered across the barren floor and glowed faintly in the blackness beyond the torches' reach. Finally he came toward her, as if to force her to stand and she shrunk back, suddenly painfully aware of just how much stronger he was than she at the moment. Her hand went back to her throat.

"You choked me!"

He knelt down beside her and looked her straight in the eye. "Yes."

"I-" She had to pause for a moment to catch another breath. Talking hurt, hurt badly. "I want my…"

"You'll get your knife back when you show enough sense for it." With that he reached underneath her and placed her, blanket and all on the back of the nightsaber. Small noises of protest were all she could manage, but they silenced when he put a small mug in her hand.

"Drink that. It'll help your throat."

And with that they were off. The druid led the nightsaber at a slow enough pace not to jostle her, and she drank the tea without any risk of spill. It _did_ help her throat, the pain was certainly easing quickly, but she still kept a suspicious eye on the night elf. He walked almost reluctantly, and his jaw was clenched tight. Her wandering mind thought briefly that that would give him a toothache, but she shoved that thought aside. It served him right if he did. What was he thinking, to attack her like that? But the incident had served to humble her some, and she road in silence. When she got her strength back, then would be the time to act, to remind him who was in charge. For now she settled for frosty silence.

They camped again in the tunnel when he decided they had probably travelled another day's worth. The tunnels of Dun Algaz were broken up by short stretches of ridge and sky, but this long passage had no such benefit. It only went unceasingly down, the walls and sconces that held the torches the same for the entire length. The only hint that they had moved at all was the warmer air that now brushed past much more frequently. She refused the extra blanket he offered her and instead asked the same question she had asked in the water.

"Why don't you just leave me, if I'm slowing you down?"

He turned back from the fire he was heating rations over and raised an eyebrow. "I swore an oath to that effect, if you'll recall."

Oh, of course. His oath. She started to speak again but despite the tea her throat still protested and it was easier to acknowledge the growing pain in her side rather than ask questions she would not receive satisfactory answers to. But to her surprise he spoke again, his voice tired.

"If I look a bit annoyed, it's not at our pace. Believe it or not, there are other things weighing on my mind."

She refused to take the bait and ask him what. Her silence would convey enough of her sentiments. He apparently understood, for he said nothing else either, but her common sense took over as he leaned back against the wall as if to take up the watch again for a second night.

"I'll watch, you need rest."

He didn't protest, only leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She frowned, but the haze in her mind had not cleared enough to get any real thinking done. Perhaps it would never leave. She sighed and focused on keeping her eyes open and looking down the tunnel past the blurriness and heat. By some miracle she managed what must have been a night's worth of hours, and in the morning, or what passed for morning down here, she made no objection at all when the druid helped her onto the mount and she fell asleep quickly.

* * *

The heat woke her. She sat up with a grunt and looked around to find that the gray of the tunnel walls had been replaced by the gray of clouds and mountainsides. The dark mouth of the tunnel was disappearing behind them, and ahead of them stretched a sea of ash. With an effort she unclasped her cloak and shoved one end of it underneath a strap that held the packs steady. There would be no need for it any time soon. But even as she thought this a fit of shivers came over her and she shuddered briefly. The night elf glanced back, then continued on as if he had seen nothing. Well then, she could not keep pace, and she could barely talk, but she could hate him, with all the rest of her strength, small as it was.

A day and a half passed before he spoke to her again, but then it was in warning, and the warning came too late. Though they had kept an eye out for the beasts that roamed this barren land, the beasts knew it better than they, and the slow-moving traveler was seen as easy prey. It came as a flicker of blue-green at the edge of her vision, but even before she had a chance to wonder at the strangeness of such color among all the ash the nightsaber roared suddenly and skittered to the side just as a great weight hit her and she went to the ground. The pain in her shoulder brought her vision suddenly clear and for one brief terrifying moment she saw the spider above her. There was a sizzling sound, whether it came from the spider or from the poison bite on her shoulder she could not tell, and in a moment more it would not matter. But she was not one to greet death with closed eyes, so she saw the corona of light suddenly envelop the beast. It let out a shriek and turned from its current target to the source of its pain, and after that there was so much light that she wasn't sure what she saw. The druid had not assumed his feral form to combat the beast, instead he was firing bolt after bolt of energy into it, keeping carefully out of range of its venom filled jaws and keeping the nightsaber at a distance as well with precisely place shots of moonfire. The fight took a few moments, but in the end the spider collapse on the ground, all hints of its previously brilliant color blasted away to leave a blackened hulk. She stared at it, only vaguely aware of the pain in her shoulder until it demanded attention, and though she grit her teeth a low moan still escaped. Was the wound alive? For it seemed to take that small moan and use it for fuel and her next noise was a scream. Her arm was on fire, burning, burning. A growl sounded somewhere near her head: the nightsaber taking up a defensive position, and then the druid was beside her, hushing her, admonishing her to be quiet in case there were more spiders around. But as long as the pain was there she had no control over her lungs. Her mind succumbed to their idea that if she screamed loud enough the pain would go away. Something held her down though, the druid's hand against her forehead. The other one was on her arm, and between screams she noticed that his face was lit by a strange pale green glow. After that, the pain seemed to dissipate a little. The screaming stopped and she panted, gasping for breath as he sat back.

"I've cleansed what I can for now." The haze threatened to come over her vision again and she focused on his face as he looked around warily for more spiders, then frowned down at her. "We're not making any more distance today. Come on-" The last word was a grunt as he lifted her back into the saddle. The nightsaber was still growling lowly, but it followed the druid willingly as he led the way off the road and up between a fall of boulders. It took a bit, but he finally found what he must have been looking for, and Dawnwaker understood as he helped her off the saber and began unloading the packs. This place was flat and sheltered by rocks on all sides save the small place they had squeezed through. Her heart sank. It was almost a miniature fortress, farther off the road and more secluded than any one-night camp needed to be. She started to protest, but her voice caught as the pain from wounds new and old overcame her, and the set of the druid's jaw told her that nothing would dissuade him from what he was doing. Besides, the haze was calling...

* * *

Dawnwaker did not know how long she floated on the sea of smoke. It swirled around her, alternatively choking and burning her, until at last it settled underneath her like a bed. Occasionally it would part and she would see the druid, his face always lit by glows in various shades of green, his eyes always fixed on something else rather than hers. Occasionally she thought that if he would just look in her eyes, that might be enough to pull her out of this morass, but he always avoided that. She wished then for Gether, who would know how to help her, or Jeneira, or- _No. Not him. He did this to me._ Her mind would always go then and she would fall back into the grayness, with periods of blackness following soon after.

When she finally woke fully for the first time the clarity with which she saw the world was almost disorienting, so it took her several moments to realize that she was in a large tent, and a few moment more to realize that the large tent was really their two smaller tents put together somehow. Her bedroll had been supplemented by several blankets, and beside her was an astonishing array of vials, pots, and jars, all filled with one substance or another. _Where?…I don't remember…_ Beyond these the various packs had been set up and mostly emptied, and there was her armor set carefully on the floor of the tent next to another bedroll that looked as if it hadn't been slept in much at all. One of her spaulders sat on the single blanket, a spool of thick thread and some tools next to it. That reminded her of her shoulder and she looked down. Her shirt had one sleeve cut away and only a faint mark showed where the spider had bit her. She raised one arm to touch the wound and hissed as a stab in her side reminded her of the other one. It looked better, less swollen and infected, but it was just as clearly still there. She pressed the bandages back over it with a wince and and turned her attention back to the bite; the nearly healed skin there presented a more optimistic outlook for the future and she would rather focus on that for now. Something crackled outside and she realized why that end of the tent had seemed lighter as a shape moved between the canvas and the fire. A low rumble joined the sound of the fire and she recognized her nightsaber, then the tent flap was thrust open and the night elf strode in, head ducked low. His eyes met hers immediately and flickered away as he knelt down to examine her shoulder, then pressed his hand to her forehead. The familiarity with which he touched her brought back all the uneasiness and suspicion that she should have been feeling and she eased away from him slightly. This didn't seem to bother him; he moved back to his own bedroll and picked up her broken spaulder.

"Your fever broke last night. The spider bite will be fine, and you _should_ be on the mend, except for _that._" Here he jabbed his finger in the direction of her side. She put a hand over the wound defensively.

"You can't fix it like you fixed my shoulder?"

He put the armor down and frowned. "I did everything I know how to, but it wouldn't heal. By the time I finished knitting together what was broken, the part I started with had opened up again." He sighed wearily and took a long drink from the bottle at his side. Her brow furrowed at that and he laughed shortly. "Don't worry, it's just water. Healing takes a good bit out of me and this helps put it back." Her expression remained and she opened her mouth to ask a question but he put his hand up. "No more why's. The only answer I have as to why I didn't just stand aside and let you die is this blasted healer's instinct and a little _endhi_ sympathy with a small bit of hope thrown in. That's all."

"What hope?"

His voice was now very exasperated. "Hope that once you're better you might behave more like the person you were at the beginning of this journey and less like the prejudiced bigot you've turned out to be."

Her jaw dropped open at that and then snapped shut as she remembered certain things. Her face went pale, then flushed as she gave up trying to find an excuse. It was just as well, for he didn't appear to be finished.

"You had the right idea at the beginning. All this Horde and Alliance bias, all the fighting…we were all on the same side once. I bet you played Alliance every now and then, yes?"

She mumbled something noncommittal.

"Consider yourself lucky then, that you were playing the rogue when it happened and not some Ally alt. You could've just as easily been on the other side."

"Is that what happened to you?"

He scowled. "Now's not the time to talk about me. I need to know about that." He pointed at her side again. She grimaced and tried to sit up, but her strength had not yet returned, and she gave up even before his hand descended heavy on her shoulder. "Just don't think about trying to move around for a little while. I'll get you something to eat after I change these bandages. Here, roll over."

She turned to face the side of the tent so that he could reach the bandages and watched the firelight flickering faintly through the canvas rather than watch what he was doing. It hurt enough already, she didn't need to see it. She could practically hear his frown, though.

"Where, when, and how did this happen?"

"Ogres, in Alterac…a little over a week before your raid."

She could hear the disbelief in his voice. "It's been over a month since then. If that's the truth then you should be dead."

She started to speak sharply at that, but his hand landed on her shoulder again. "Don't move. Now, the truth."

"That is the truth. I had an excellent healer in Undercity; she gave me medicine that held it pretty well. But I lost it at the Span."

By now he had the bandages off and had cleaned the wound again, but he wasn't applying whatever was in the containers by his side. She shifted a little to find him staring at the cut with his hand on his chin, until it moved back to her shoulder. "I said don't move." She put her head back down and clenched the edge of the blanket in a tight fist, attempting to funnel her frustration there instead of at the night elf. He was silent for several moments more, and when he spoke again his voice was quizzical.

"You said ogres?"

"Yes."

"I doubt that."

She did tense then, for that was the one part of her story that she had lied about from the beginning. But no one needed to know. Not Gether, not Jeneira, and most certainly not this blasted night elf. But he wouldn't let it go.

"I can't heal this unless I know exactly what it is. In my experience, ogres carry maces, clubs, axes, at most a broadsword. IF one ever carries daggers, they're more the size of a short sword. This wound was made with a dagger, a very slender, very sharp dagger. Much like the ones I saw you carrying before. Blood elf daggers. And since you are smart enough and skilled enough not to stab yourself, I'm guessing it was someone else. So who was it? One of your underlings, making a bid for the top spot?"

The blanket was now clenched as tight as she could grip it in her weakened state. "Never one of them," she whispered. "It was in Alterac, in the mountains."

"Dawnwaker." He reached over and turned her gently to face him. "If you don't tell me exactly what happened, I can't fix this wound. I can stop the infection for a bit, but it will eventually spread, and then it _will_ kill you, and not quickly. It will be painful." She shut her eyes tightly, as if by doing so she could stop up her ears as well. He kept talking anyways. "Whoever did this…you don't need to protect them. They can't have been a friend, this sort of thing is almost too horrible to wish on your worst enemy. And it's not as if I would go running off to avenge you either. All I want to do is fix this now, so we can get back to the caravan. Get back to our friends."

"Don't need to protect him." Her voice was so quiet now, he had to lean in to hear her. She opened her eyes slowly. "He's dead. I gave him a quick death, though apparently that was more than he gave me."

"Who? Who was it?"

She swallowed and turned her face back to the wall. "His name was Ranken Brightburn. He was one of my lieutenants, back when the guilds had just been formed in Undercity. He was my friend." She almost choked. He had been much more than that, but that went unsaid. The druid could probably tell just by the tone of her voice. "He…changed, though. Began doing things that were not permitted. Torturing _endhi_ that got lost in Horde territories, leading raids on Alliance villages for no good reason, burning everything… Sylvanas banished him from the city and I was forced to banish him from the guild. We never heard where he went, though there were rumors." She fell into silence for a moment, and the druid waited for her to continue. Strangely, his silence was what encouraged her to go on. "I was on my way back from Tarren Mill. Normally I would avoid the mountains and just follow the river, but…I wanted to know for certain. So I went through. I'm a rogue, I'm good at sneaking past things, especially things as dumb as ogres. I was skulking around Strahnbrad when he found me." She laughed bitterly. "He found me! I could never hide from him. I was glad to see him and he seemed glad to see me. But he had joined the Syndicate…I asked him to leave with me, to come back. Told him we could figure something out." She reached over to run a finger down a seam in the tent. "I was planning to turn the guild over to Gether soon anyway. I told him we could go anywhere, do whatever we wanted. But then he just laughed. He said the Syndicate would never turn him out the way I had. They would never ask him to change himself. We argued, and the blades came out. I'm certain there were other rogues around, but the fight was only me and him. And he was amazing. He could go forever. The only thing I had going for me was that I was always more agile. Better at slipping through nets. If he couldn't see me, then he couldn't kill me. And I got him. He was lying there, dying, and I was holding him, crying so hard I couldn't see anything. And just when I thought he was gone, he grabbed his dagger again and stabbed me." Her hand went to her side. "Right here. And his eyes, just before they went dark…he hated me." Tears streamed freely now. She started briefly when the druid covered her hand with his, then didn't resist when he put both arms around her and held her until she had shed every tear she had left. Gether had told her once that sometimes being strong made her weak. She had laughed at that then, but now she thought she understood: her weariness came from so much more than the wound in her flesh. So now she thrust everything away and wept, without caring what or who's arms held her. The druid said nothing, made no attempt at comfort beyond that and she was thankful for that. When she finally quieted and the tenseness of her muscles gave her away he let her go and she swallowed several times, wiping at her eyes. He handed her a damp cloth without a word.

Then, after a long moment, "I need to ask you a few more questions."

She nodded, already beginning to hate herself again for such a display. Perhaps the druid was not the sort to hold the outburst over her head. He was the one who started it after all. Still, she steeled herself as she wiped the last traces of tears away and nodded stiffly in an attempt to regain some dignity. If only she had her knife with her. Acting reasonably or not, people always had to take her seriously with a dagger at their throats.

"Which poisons did he favor? The more specific the better."

"Well… we only use certain poisons in Shadowshield. No wound poisons, no crippling poisons. Only the fast acting stuff. We aren't interested in torture. But Ranken…that was one of the reasons he was dismissed from the guild. He liked to come up with these cocktails that did horrible things."

The druid gave her hand a squeeze and turned back to his vials and pots. "Thank you. I think I know what to do for this now."

She twisted her head around. "What's that?"

His brow furrowed in concentration as he mixed two creamy substances together and began carefully packing the wound with them, his hands beginning to glow slightly as he worked. She winced, but didn't make a sound.

"I couldn't figure out why it was behaving so strangely, but now… I think he combined a particularly nasty variety of wound poison and what you call deadly poison, and added some mind-numbing stuff on top of it."

"But…I don't use magic."

"No, but healers do. That's why your healer's salve worked so well, it wasn't magic based. That's why my cleansing didn't work at all. Well, that and the rest. However he combined them, they were meant to keep on hurting, over and over again, and the pain would be dragged out as long as the attempts to heal it were. Nasty stuff."

"But you can fix it?"

His hands hesitated and she turned to find him still. He spoke very quietly. "I'm not sure I can fix it all the way. It may bother you the rest of your life. But you won't die."

She nodded slowly. "Well it's nothing he hadn't done to me already." The druid finished rewrapping the bandages and she turned over again to lie on her back as he went outside. Now she noticed the aroma that drifted in. That was meat, if she wasn't mistaken, and the hot meal that he brought did a great deal to bring a little of her energy back. But it was only as he was leaving the tent to keep watch for the night that she thought of a question she had to ask him, and though it was difficult for her pride to let out, she grit her teeth and asked it anyway, disguising it in the form of a statement.

"Your name, I've…I'm afraid I've forgotten it."

He turned back to look at her with astonishment that was quickly hidden. "Tariquelan Eventide. But I usually go by Tariq."

"Well…thank you, Tariq."

The first hint of a smile that wasn't wicked or sardonic began to cross his face and he turned to go again.

"As long as we're going by first names then, you can call me Jalyria."

He glanced back. "That's quite a mouthful, Jal." With that he was gone, and the tent flap fell with a thud.


	13. Revelations

Tariq brought her food the next morning, then, at her insistence, helped her outside to sit by the coals on a makeshift seat of the saddle and a large rock. "It's true food alone won't make you well, but don't overdo it," he admonished when she attempted to stand again to help him move some of the nightsaber's gear over to his own mat where he could mend the bits that had come loose. However, he hadn't been at that long before she noticed his hands slowing and suggested that he get some sleep while she was out here to keep watch. He agreed easily and she was able to keep her eyes open for several hours, despite the complete lack of anything at all to engage her attention. The druid had chosen the spot well, for a cleft in the rock was the only place anything could get at them. But the only thing that moved was the nightsaber as it shifted a little, huffing in its own dreams. Its dark coat was usually good at hiding dirt, but she could see that it was now matted in places and streaked with ash. The big cat needed a good washing, but it wasn't likely to get one until after they'd crossed the Burning Steppes. At Lakeshire, yes, that would be a good place.

Around midday, or what passed for midday through the steady roof of gray clouds that hung low overhead, Tariq emerged from the tent looking much better than he'd gone in. At this point Dawnwaker was more than happy to let him help her back to her bedroll; even sitting up for that long had drained her. He changed her bandages carefully, making one noise of approval at the state of the wound before applying more medicine.

"Shouldn't one of us be outside?"

"The nightsaber will let us know something's wrong, probably before we could even see it coming."

He was right of course. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and opened them quickly, as if doing this might help her regain what edge she had lost. The druid finished with the medicine but put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving.

"I want to try something. Lie still, it might take a while."

She did as he said, but could not resist turning her head to try and catch a glimpse of what he was doing. All she could see was a green glow, though her side did begin to feel a little funny.

"I'm trying to heal just the edges. If I can get them to stay well and not revert back…" His voice faded off as he concentrated on his work. She attempted to be a good patient, but after the uneventful morning she grew bored quickly. Well, Jeneira had always chided her for that.

"What do you think, Tariq, about the _endhi_?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…what's your position?"

The green glow didn't falter. "I think we ought to assimilate as best we can. Without forgetting where we came from, of course. But if there's no hope of getting back…"

"So you think we ought to be devoted wholeheartedly to our different factions."

"Well, we should be loyal to those whom we have promised our loyalty to. There are plenty of neutrals, but we've seen what happens to them. They don't last very long."

"True."

She was silent, lost in thought for a long moment.

"Was I doing right then, to protect your guild? Because the further we went…well it ate at me."

His voice was wry when he replied. "I could tell." The glow ceased for a moment as he examined his work closely, then resumed. "I think you did right. Believe it or not, for all the trouble I caused later I was at the head of those who did not want to go. But Hunter…he can be very persuasive. And I went along to do what I do best, take care of them. I admired you at the start, actually. You seemed to have your head on straight. But the further we went, well."

She had nothing to say to that, so she remained silent.

He sighed. "Everything I did, I did to protect my people, including leaving you behind at Menethil Harbor. So I could be asking you the same question, did I do right? And I doubt either of us have an answer."

A thought occurred to her. "Why did you leave me at Menethil, and not in the water?"

"Well I didn't want you dead, just out of reach, where you couldn't harm my friends. I figured you'd be fine there."

She didn't like that very much. But there was nothing she could do to be out of debt to him now, not while he was holding back death from her. That vexed her, but she would have time to be vexed later. For now she was just curious, and he seemed to be in an obliging mood.

"I still don't understand why you didn't just fly away. All you druids can fly, I know."

Silence. She couldn't help twisting around to see him now, and discovered that his jaw was clenched tight. The glow faded as she turned further and, struggling, managed to sit up. He had the same look in his eyes that she must have had when he asked her about the dagger wound, haunted, and his fists were clenched.

"You don't have to tell me."

"No." His throat worked and he looked all around the small space of the tent, as if looking for an escape, before his eyes rested on his hands once more. "You told me a difficult story yesterday. I suppose I can tell you one." Then to her surprise he reached up and began unclasping the armor he had been able to purchase at Thelsamar, setting each piece aside carefully. When he reached to pull his shirt off she made a small noise of protest, but he stilled it with a tired smile. "You need to see."

And what she saw shocked her. Now, she realized, she had never looked closely at Tariq's hands, and he had always worn long-sleeved shirts. They had been in cool climates so it made sense but now the real reason for it was clear. Scars covered his arms, extending from his fingertips through his wrists and up to his elbows, and then on up the back of his arms to his shoulders and well down his back. It wasn't just one scar, it was many, layered and layered again like ones received from repeated whipping. But these looked as if someone had taken a knife and sawed into his skin. She couldn't help herself, she reached out and touched his shoulder blade where they seemed the thickest. He didn't meet her eyes as he reached for his shirt and pulled it on again over his head, then began donning his armor once more.

"Before the Rising, I was killing some time leveling herbalism on one of my alts. My main was Horde, you see." There was no pain in his voice at this point, in fact it sounded flat, as if everything he was recounting was as distant as her's had been close. "This druid was capped but professions still needed leveling. It was just to pass the time. I was in Ashenvale, too far east. It made no difference to me of course, I was too high level to worry about a few orcs. I was running straight through the Warsong camp when it happened. It was so strange. The light…and then there I was, without a clue as to what had just happened, dazed out my mind. I never had a chance. Oh I took a few of them down of course, and for that I was tortured, but the worst came as they discussed how to confine me. They didn't know I understood Orcish, an apparent side effect of having played both factions. That's how I knew you must have as well, your Common is far too good to have just been picked up in the past year. At any rate, one said something about not letting me fly away, and that's when my head cleared enough to know I might as well _try_ to shift into flight form. But it was too late. They had a net."

He let out a deep sigh. "In the end I did it to myself. If I hadn't shifted they couldn't have done it, and if I had remained in flight form the feathers might have grown back. But they weren't gentle, and the clipping hurt. It affected me in all my forms, this one was the easiest to assume because I didn't have to walk on the injuries. But they healed fast that way and the next time I tried shifting to flight form…well, I've not felt such pain before or after. They were afraid the feathers would grow back though, so they would force me to shift, again and again, cutting them off each time I did. They only stopped when it was obvious they were ruined for good. I haven't shifted into that form since then."

She winced inwardly but kept her face straight for his sake. Unfortunately it was not the first time she had heard such a story, though the brutality evidenced here was certainly the worst to date. She was tempted to ask him how he was not dead after all that, but instead she opted for a statement with a more pleasant connotation. "How did you escape?"

"It actually wasn't that hard. Once they were sure I couldn't fly away they put me with the other prisoners, working in the lumber camp. At night they would bring us food and then shackle us to the nearest tree. I just worked my way closer and closer to the edge, and then one night they made the mistake of securing me while in bear form." He held up his hands. "These wrists are a little thinner than the bear's. So from there I made my way to the Silverwing Outpost, and eventually to Astranaar. By then I knew a fair bit about what had happened. I knew that it took forever to travel places, and I knew that healing things took a lot more time and effort than before. Though I can heal myself faster than I can heal others. That's one perk, at least."

"And Stormwind?"

"Ah. Well as a night elf I probably should have been comfortable in those lands, but as an _endhi_ night elf…well I still do better under the moon, I think, but overall I found their culture a little too strange. I hadn't been in Astranaar long before I traveled up to Auberdine and took a ship to Stormwind. And there I ran into Hunter of all people."

She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice this time. "You knew him before?"

"Aye, we've been friends a while. And it was evident right off that he didn't take things here as seriously as I did."

"Let me guess, rose right up into Stormwind, safest place to be."

"Oh, no." He blinked at her, as if suddenly figuring something out. "You don't know what it's like in Stormwind for _endhi _do you?"

"Apparently not."

"Ach." He shook his head. "Things are hard there, and most of it's our own fault. Its better now that things are regulated, but several deaths a day used to be common."

"_Endhi_ deaths or others?"

"Both, depending on who provoked whom. At this point we're treated very much like second-hand citizens down there, though if you keep your head down and act properly they never know the difference. But Hunter, well, he was a bit disgusted by all that. I suspect that was one reason he was so insistent on this venture. Considered it a way to prove ourselves to them."

She shook her head. "I don't see how he could have been so foolish."

"Oh he's a bit rash, but I wouldn't call him foolish. If you'll notice, we almost succeeded, with no fatalities at all to ourselves. But then you showed up and ruined the entire plot."

"Well I make no apologies for that," she said dryly. "But answer this: why did Varian agree to a prisoner exchange if you lot aren't worth beans to him?"

Tariq's brow furrowed. "Well now I hadn't thought of that. Doesn't make much sense at all."

"That's what worries me." She shifted a little and winced, glancing down at her side. "Blast it all…how soon until we can travel? Getting back to the others is more urgent than ever now."

"Lie down and let me get back to work, and we'll see how you're doing in the morning. I suspect it'll be at least another day though."

She groaned at that but obeyed and turned over, pillowing her head in her hands. He was concentrating so intently that she was taken by surprise when he spoke again.

"So where were you?"

"Where was I when?"

"At the Rising."

"Oh." There was silence for a long moment. "I don't like to talk about it."

"Have you told anyone about it?"

"Yes. Gether knows, and Jeneira. And several…others. But I don't like to relate it more than I have to."

He didn't say anything else, and somehow his silence persuaded her when words could not.

"We were in Naxxramas."

A long time passed then, and she didn't speak again until the glow faded and he wrapped the bandages back over the wound. She started to turn, but he was already out of the tent and the words died in her throat. There were things she had put far behind her, things she did not want to bring to the front of her mind. But it was too late; the guilt was returning, and it would remain there until enough time had passed to dull it, and events surrounded her and obscured it, chasing it back to the dark places where it lurked until a stray question like that would bring it out again. No, she had not been tortured like the druid had been, but she bore her own scars from that time, and the torture in her mind continued without wavering.

"It does help to talk about it."

She started and looked up to find that he had reentered the tent with some of the gear he was repairing. He sat down easily on his mat and got to work, and his apparent disinterest affected her the way it had several days ago. Before she knew it, she was talking.

"It was a guild run. We were just clearing trash in the Military Quarter, waiting for one of our dps to get back online. There was a storm in his area and he'd had a power surge or something. But it was like you said, this light…and then there we were, right in the middle of it. It was almost automatic to keep fighting though, and I killed my target with one slice to the neck, then helped take another down, and for a moment, no one realized what was happening. But then the tanks were both dead, just like that, and the healers couldn't keep up…well you know how it is. And suddenly we were all dying. I took a bad hit to one leg and another slash across the back before I ran. Everyone else was falling, and there was nothing to be done but just survive…" She choked as the shame came rushing back in even as she tried to justify her actions as she had again and again and again. "I vanished into the shadows and just huddled there as the last of them fell. It may have been hours, I don't know, but they never came back. I kept waiting for them to run back, to respawn, thinking we'd fight our way out together, but they just lay there. My friends! And elf or tauren or orc or whatever they were, they had their faces. Open eyes, staring at me while I cowered in the shadows."

"You knew them."

"Yes," she whispered, "I'd known them long before I'd even heard of Warcraft." She sighed, aware that her voice was falling into the dead tone that his had earlier, but had no reason to do anything to alter that. She just went on. "Eventually some things came and dragged them away, but I still didn't move. Before long though, I had to. I had to get out. I was specced for stealth and apparently that sort of thing carried over well, because I got to the entrance even with my bad leg. But then! I crawled out, almost all the way out, and realized there was nowhere to go but the air. That stupid flying dungeon. I almost lost it there and would have thrown myself over the edge if I hadn't heard a voice. Oh, that voice. It was my Netherwing, Onaryx."

There was a sharp intake of breath and she looked over to find Tariq staring at her. "Your Netherwing?"

"Yes." She laughed shortly. "Perks of being in Northrend at the time, I suppose. He was the flying mount I used the most there and in Outland, though I'd never named him. But it just came to me the minute I heard him, I _knew_ his name, sort of like I knew mine. There was no realization, it was just there."

The druid nodded thoughtfully, as if this confirmed something for him, then went back to the worn saddle. She continued with a bit more brevity; it was good to remember the dragon.

"Onaryx came right up under the opening and let me drop into his saddle, then took off like the plague was after him. It may have been: I don't remember much of that flight, just that there was almost no wind, even though he was flying so fast. He took me to Wyrmrest Temple, right to the top straightaway, and there I was, freezing, no cloak or anything, bleeding all over the blasted tiles with no clue what was going on, and there was Alexstrasza."

"No." She glanced at him sharply, then realized the word had been a mere exclamation of disbelief, rather than a denial that it could be so. The tools in his hands had gone still and he was staring again, as if he were a small child and she was telling an old tale of legend and heroes.

"_Alexstrasza_?"

"Yes. Oh trust me, I was dumbstruck! But I'd lost so much blood I wasn't in any shape to do more than grovel on the floor anyway. She was in her elf form, and she helped me up, healed all my wounds, and she told me a great deal. It's all a bit blurry though. I don't even know how much time passed. But I remember what she said. They had felt a 'great magic' take place, and then suddenly there were hundreds of thousands of new lives here, and then more than half of them were snuffed out, immediately. This had obviously caused her great distress, and she sent word that any…_endhi_… were to be brought to her immediately. Dragons began arriving almost immediately to report their riders were dead. I was the first to make it there alive."

"So that's where the word came from. _Endhi_."

"To this day I don't know what it means, and no one could tell me. But once she was through with her tale she questioned me long and hard. I explained as much of our world to her as I could, but I think all that mattered to her was that I had been a guild master. I certainly couldn't shed any more light on what had happened. Eventually I was let go, along with seven other _endhi_ she had rescued. We bore messages to the leaders of the eight cities; I was to go to Undercity. So Onaryx flew me swift to Vengeance Landing, and from there I took the zeppelin to Tirisfal Glades. There wasn't room for him, so he stayed in Northrend. Sylvanas was willing to listen and she took the Dragonqueen's message to heart. I think she probably identified with us a bit, about everything we knew being ripped from us and all. She oversaw the forming of the _endhi_ guilds, appointed their leaders, and the city generally prospered after that, though there were a few bumps along the way as we figured this new world out."

Her voice faded as she noticed the unfocused look of the druid's eyes.

"Tariq?"

"Sorry. I was just thinking how different it may have been had such a message reached Varian. Or perhaps it did and made no difference at all. Stormwind is not a pleasant place to be for an _endhi_."

"So you said. I think I understand your General Hunter a bit better now. It must have been a shock to come up in such a place."

"Oh he didn't rise in Stormwind."

"But I thought you said-"

"He was in the Deadmines, shepherding a group of low-levels through a few runs. They all died, but he managed to fight his way out. The journey north wasn't easy either, so you can imagine his disgust when he found what Stormwind was like."

Dawnwaker pursed her lips and nodded. "But after that I still don't see how he could be so foolhardy-"

"-to attack Undercity? A successful assassination of a Horde leader was the last hope he had for us to be acceptable down there. Plus there was a rumor going around that dying meant you go back home. People were throwing themselves off the walls. The entire guild agreed that dying in battle was preferable to that, but he didn't intend for them to die at all. Hot-headed as he is, he's a good leader, and a good tactician." Tariq sighed heavily. "But none of us expected such organized resistance, especially not from _endhi._ We all assumed Undercity would be like Stormwind, to our everlasting ruin." He looked at her sharply. "I hope your man Gether can handle him the way you did. Otherwise we may catch the caravan to find the prisoners reversed."

She laughed freely at that. "Gether did not become my second by mere chance, and besides that, he is a _rogue_. Lord Ravenholdt himself would find it difficult to catch him unawares."

"I did find it strange that Sylvanas should assign a guild of rogues for a journey such as this, but perhaps it begins to make sense."

Dawnwaker made no answer to that. Enough information had been exchanged for one night, and though she felt like she could trust the druid with her life now, there were other things that she wished to keep hidden, and stray conversation was no way to do that. Besides, sleep beckoned.


	14. To the Mouth of the Mountain

Two days later Tariq pronounced her well enough to ride, and they left the pile of rocks that had sheltered them without any reluctance. Some people might have thought she should be grateful to the place, but Dawnwaker felt no such sentiments, instead thinking of it as she did all of the sickbeds she had ever been confined to and leaving it behind with any hesitation whatsoever. The druid looked back once with what might have been a hint of wistfulness, but was probably only watchfulness. There were more spiders about, and they could not afford to lose any more time. At first Dawnwaker had argued that she should walk, but after Tariq pointed out how weak she still was, and the fact that their supplies were almost completely depleted and therefore weighed half of what they used, she agreed to ride the nightsaber. As things were she could not handle more than an easy gait anyways, so the issue of saving the strength of the mount became moot. Occasionally she would grit her teeth and urge it into a slightly faster lope, with Tariq switching to his travel form, but that never lasted long as the pain in her side grew. Even so, she felt a thousand times better than she had before. There was one fact that she would never, ever disagree on, and that was Tariq's skill as a healer.

"Were you a druid on your Horde main as well?" she asked once, hesitantly, afraid that such an inquiry into his former life would provoke another spark of anger, but he only replied that he had been, and said nothing more. She would feel the same, she supposed, if she had risen as one of her alts. No anger at anyone specific, only frustration that she had been on the wrong character at the wrong time.

They made an uneasy camp that night, and kept watch vigilantly. Both were bothered by the openness of the camp after the time in the rocks, and Dawnwaker did not think it would be going to far to say that Tariq was just as worried about the caravan as she was. Something was off here, that much was clear after what the druid had said about Stormwind and Varian. And they were all drawing nearer to human-controlled lands every day. She took first watch as he attempted to find a comfortable spot on the ground. They hadn't bothered unpacking the tent as it was very warm and grower warmer, and canvas wouldn't stop the beasts that roamed this land. At last he seemed to find some level of relaxation, but then suddenly sat up. She jerked around, looking for whatever monster he had seen, but he was looking at her.

"That letter you've got, it grants the whole group free passage through Alliance lands, yes?"

"Ah-" she had to take a moment to gather her thoughts. "Yes. But I don't have it, we kept it with the healer's supplies, just in case anyone got separated, so it wouldn't get lost with them."

He nodded slowly and she continued, seeing he wanted more. "They obviously made it through the dwarves' lands well enough. It'll be fine. And they're not going anywhere near Elwynn Forest, just straight through the Redridge Mountains and Duskwood to Deadwind Pass."

"Right." He nodded shortly and lay back down, obviously not reassured. She grimaced, but there was nothing she could do about easing his worry when her's ran just as strong. Whatever Varian was planning for the Horde and their prisoners it made more sense to accomplish it on their way through his own territory. She had thought these very same thoughts when they had first agreed to meeting at the Dark Portal, but even with their careful plans… Tariq grunted and rolled over, then shifted again. She scowled, knowing that if he didn't sleep now he wouldn't be worth anything tomorrow, and that didn't make for speed. Speed was what they needed now more than anything.

"Relax." She didn't quite snap when she said it, but she said it sharply enough to get his attention. He opened one eye to give her a glare. She smiled sweetly and brandished her knife. "Don't worry, you're quite safe. I won't let the monsters get you."

He rolled his eyes and turned over again, finally relaxing enough to apparently fall asleep. A great feat, considering that the worry hadn't been about her at all, but about his people. They were both going to be worn thin with anxiety by the time they caught up, but the only cure was to actually make it. She silenced the low growl that tried to rise in her throat and kept the knife balanced across her knees at the ready. The dull ache still throbbed in her side, but she barely noticed it now. Frustrated, she tried to watch the darkness in all directions, keeping her gaze away from the bright coals at her feet. If only there was something she could do to reach across the distance… Ah, but there was.

She eyed the sleeping form of the druid once more, then fumbled for the amulet around her neck with one hand and carefully popped the clasp that held the gem to the back of the setting. A small glow rose from it and suddenly a mist seemed to appear, after a few more moment the essence of a face resolved itself in the depths of vapor, turned to Dawnwaker, and spoke quietly.

"Captain Dawnwaker. You look much better than last time we spoke."

"My lady." She did not incline her head, Sylvanas would not be able to see the gesture in the sister amulet back in Undercity, but she kept her tone as respectful as she could. Carefully she related every detail of what Tariq had told her concerning Stormwind, and though emotions on the mist-face were difficult to read, the Dark Lady's concern came through clearly enough, and she was obviously growing more agitated by the moment.

"How far behind them are you?"

"I cannot say. But we are making good time."

There was a frustrated silence until Dawnwaker felt the need to speak again. "If you could spare one of the mages for a portal perhaps-"

Sylvanas cut her off sharply. "That won't work, not as close to Alliance lands as you are. Besides, we need them all here if we're to get the timing right. But you _must_ catch up to them."

She sighed. "Yes, my lady."

The mist faded, and she snapped the gem back into the setting with unnecessary force. All alone, still weak from wounds, with a nightsaber that should have burned out miles and miles ago… With a huff she settled back into a watchful silence, eyes ever on the darkness.

* * *

About midmorning the next day they came to the crossroads, barely a mark in the ashes. One road led to the Badlands and Kargath, the other led down toward Blackrock Mountain. And in the southward road there were deep furrows, of the kind heavy wagons would make, and the marks of over a hundred feet, hooves, and paws. They both stood and looked for a long moment, but it did not take a skilled tracker to tell them what they saw.

"Well," Tariq spoke at last, heavily, "at least they'll be easy to follow."

Dawnwaker knelt down beside one of the footprints, pressing two fingers to the ash. There had been no question of intercepting the caravan where the roads met after all the days they had lost, but the hope had lingered on in her mind all the same. She sighed and slowly got back to her feet. There had been a time when she and her nightsaber could have covered these distances in half the time, but she was in no shape for that sort of riding now, even if the nightsaber wasn't feeling the strain. And even then, the druid could not have kept up, even in travel form. Right now it would take all of their combined strength to go fast enough to catch the slow-moving wagons. She held onto the thought of those wagons now, for once they caught them, she could just sleep for a long long time. She turned around, about to point out that there was no way to tell from the tracks how long ago they had passed here and that they ought to get going. Instead the words stuck in her throat as she found Tariq staring hard at the road, frowning.

"What is it?"

"These furrows." He pointed. "I know there's no wind here to shift the sand, and I know they had to have passed here days ago, but even considering all that, these are a little too deep."

She frowned then, too, and tried to see what he saw. Unfortunately she had never had much experience with wagons. "So what does that mean?"

He grimaced. "It means they were traveling fast here. Faster than normal."

She stared then, striving mightily to suppress the anger that rose inside her. He was only the bearer of bad news, after all, not the one who caused it. But she had to let the frustration loose somehow. Swearing viscously, she kicked the nearest pile of ash. "What in Ragefire are you doing Gether? Blast it all!"

Tariq didn't look away from the tracks. "He's doing the best he knows how. As far as he's concerned you might as well be dead, and he's taking care of everyone as best he can. He's not intentionally running away from us."

Dawnwaker paid no attention to him, instead continued to pace in front of the nightsaber furiously. The mount growled low in its throat, obviously picking up on her agitated state as she continued her tirade. It only stopped when the night elf stepped up behind her and hooked a finger under one of her spaulders, bringing her to a halt. She spun on him angrily and glared up at him the best she could. Tall as she was for a blood elf, she barely came to his shoulders, and this close to him the position was decidedly not the best for an intimidating stare. He looked down at her with what might have been barely veiled amusement, until she had enough and shoved him away with all the strength she could muster. Still muttering angrily she turned to adjust one of the straps on the nightsaber's gear.

"You're not helping at all, you know."

"On the contrary." His voice was much lighter now than it had been when he pointed out the depth of the furrows, but it still sounded a little forced. "It's much quieter now without you screaming, and that's an improvement, at least for me."

She turned around, incredulous, expecting to find his eyes mocking her and be forced to return to her previous dagger-happy methods of persuasion, healer or not. Instead he looked back at her solemnly. "What's our course of action?"

She let herself fume for a few seconds more, then finally relaxed with a sigh. Nothing was being accomplished by this, and even if fighting him made _her_ feel better, it wasn't going to get them down the road any faster. Not that he could be goaded into a fight anyway, he was far too controlled for that. Sometimes she envied his calm demeanor.

"We keep going, as fast as we can. There's nothing else for it."

And so they went, Dawnwaker pushing the nightsaber as fast as she dared and Tariq loping alongside in his travel form. The tracks were encouraging in that they finally had concrete evidence that what they were chasing was actually there, but that was the only thought she had for a long time. All the rest of her was occupied with going just fast enough, but not too fast, and watching for beasts. So it was almost a shock when the druid finally shifted back to his elf form and brought the mount to a halt with a light hand on its neck. She was about to speak, but he turned and put a finger to his lips before gesturing her to get off.

"Keep it quiet," he whispered, motioning to the nightsaber, "and follow me."

She did so without question now, knowing he must have seen something up ahead. When they peered over the small fall of boulders he led her to, though, she felt the anger stir back up a little, but this time it was at herself. She knew her maps well, and had she not been so caught up in reaching the caravan, she would have realized that they were near one of the few places in the Searing Gorge where they might run into unfriendly company. Here before them now was a small group of dwarves, Dark Iron by the look of their armor and the cut of their beards. The caravan tracks went right on down the road, obviously such a large group had not felt threatened by this small camp. The two of them, however…

Tariq eased back down behind the rocks and she followed, mind racing. Her normal approach would have been to slip in and slit throats. There were only five of them, and it would have been quick and simple. But now, well, now she was tired, and tired feet simply did not move as silently as rested feet did. Perhaps Tariq could slip in. He was much more rested that she was. She turned and was about to suggest that when he shook his head and put a finger to his lips once again, then made a gesture that was clearly meant to point out just how close the dwarves were and how well they would be able to hear them, even with the rocks in the way. Her lip twisted and she moved over to put her mouth next to his ear and spoke in a barely audible voice.

"Can you take them?"

He shook his head, then turned to whisper to her before she could say anything else. "We'll stay here until nightfall, then sneak past once they're asleep."

"But-"

"I need to conserve my strength. So do you."

And, she suddenly realized, night was not so far off as she had thought. Already the sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains in the west. Reluctantly then she slouched down further among the stones, then leaned back and closed her eyes. If she could get an hour or so of sleep here, then perhaps she could keep going well into the night.

And they did, creeping successfully past the dwarves and going forward as far as they could by the red glow that spilled from the great canyon known as the Cauldron that plunged far away to their right until even that faded and they were forced to stop. There was no fire at the camp that night, the thick, warm air was enough to make one undesirable even without the danger such light would contribute. Their objective now was simply to gain Blackrock Mountain without being spotted by anyone here, beast or dwarf. They rose early in the morning and continued their back-breaking pace, still following the tracks of the caravan. It was well they were there, for the road was becoming less and less clear. Apparently the ash in this part of the Gorge shifted more often than did that to the north, and in some places there was no evidence of a road at all, save for the fresh ruts from the wagons. For two more days they went like this, until the evening of the second day brought them to a place where the ground began to slope uphill and the rough marked road of ash gave way to a significant bed of matched paving stones that wound its way ever more steeply up the side of the towering mountain. Dawnwaker looked up at the wall of rock in awe, searching in vain for the peak that was hidden among the swirling gray clouds far above.

"Blackrock," she said grimly, then dismounted knowing that now was the time to make camp, rather than halfway up. The best thing to do would be to get up, through, and back down the mountain in a single run, and that would be almost twice the distance they had been making in a day thus far. If they rested well tonight it might be possible. Her energy had been returning daily, despite the brutal pace and limited food and water. She needed a good rest in a town to get back to fighting trim, but for now she was well on the way. Carefully she unstrapped the bedrolls from the nightsaber's gear and turned to ask the druid where he wanted his-only to find him almost doubled over, leaning heavily against one of the large stones that dotted this area. The blankets hit the ash with a thud as she hurried over. Yes, she was tired, and the nightsaber ought to have dropped from exhaustion now, but Tariq was healthy, or at least he should have been.

"What's wrong?"

He glanced up at her weakly and waved off any help she might have offered. "I'll be fine. We're nearly out of water is all."

Confusion played clearly on her face; they had been nearly out of water for several days now and she had never seen him like this. He groaned and pushed himself off the rock far enough to turn around and slide down to the ground. Dawnwaker narrowed her eyes and went quickly back to the mount and unfastened the only waterskin that had anything left in it and brought it back to the druid, dangling it in front of him. He shook his head and she shook the skin in turn, insistently.

"Here. You take the rest. I can go without for a lot longer than you can. You need it for your mana, right?"

He glanced up sharply at that, then reluctantly took the pouch. "You need it too, you know. Not like in the game."

"Yes, but I don't need nearly as much. Part of being an elf, I suppose. And not using any magic."

He shrugged in response and took two quick gulps before recapping it and tossing it back to her. "I'm an elf too, you know."

"A _magic_ using elf." But she was distracted as she said it. He followed her eyes up to the bulk of the mountain then leaned over to catch the edge of his bedroll with one finger and drag it towards himself. It was covered in ash, but by now everything was, including himself. He made a half-hearted attempt at shaking some of the larger bits off, then spread it carefully in the gray dust. Dawnwaker was still watching the mountain, as if it might move at any moment.

"Never seen it before?"

She jumped a little, then turned away to hide her flush. This trip would be the death of her if she were not more alert. For now she focused on giving a steady answer in what was probably a vain attempt to salvage any reputation she had left with the druid. On second thought, he had already seen her at her absolute weakest, so that was probably a lost cause.

"No, I've never been this way on foot before. And the zeppelins always fly by the coast."

"Well I will say its impressive." He let himself down easily onto the makeshift bed with a groan and squeezed his eyes shut against the swirl of ash that erupted as Dawnwaker shook out her own bedroll. A quick dip in the packs for two bits of stale bread and she too lowered herself to the ground, sitting upright and alert as she rubbed the blade of her knife with a rag, taking occasional bites of the bread. He grimaced at his and consumed it in two quick bites, then settled back in to attempt to sleep though it was not fully dark yet. He had second watch and they would be getting an early start, and he needed all the rest he could get. Unfortunately the silence here unnerved him just as it had for the entire journey through the Gorge, and sleep seemed very distant. He cracked an eyelid to find that the rogue was once again watching the mountain even as she absently ran the rag over her knife blade.

"You know you're more like Hunter than you realize."

Her attention snapped back to the camp as he spoke. "What?"

"You're a lot like Hunter."

She grimaced. "How so?"

"Well," he grunted, propping himself up on one elbow. "You look at that mountain like it's something to be conquered, not feared. Your first choice of action is to rush in fighting and kill whatever gets in your way. You lead by strength. And you're not very attentive to your immediate surroundings when there's something more exciting looming on the horizon."

"Huh." Her brow furrowed. "Well that last isn't true at least. I'm afraid that's one of the more dangerous side effects of this exhaustion illness we've all contracted." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Got a cure for that, healer?"

"I wish I did." He collapsed back onto the blankets.

"You remind me of Gether sometimes, only he's not nearly so annoying."

"Oh, really?"

She nodded. "He keeps his head, like you do. Smooths things over. Drives me nuts."

"I drive you nuts?"

"I'll put it this way, there was one point at which I was quite ready to kill you."

"Don't remind me. I'll never be able to sleep." He intended that to be humorous, but no laughter came from the blood elf. She just kept polishing the knife, the rag swirling in tiny circles over and over again. The motion was almost hypnotic and he found himself slipping away easily, until her sharp voice cut through the silence once again. He stifled a groan, then stilled at what she said.

"Can I trust you, Tariq?"

He frowned and propped himself up again. "Of course."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he decided that she did that entirely too often. But who was he to blame her for skepticism? He still watched her closely every day, always on the lookout for those destructive tendencies that had so disturbed him back in the Arathi Highlands and since then. And how could he assure her that he could be trusted when he had forced himself to make the decision that even now, if she endangered his guild he would kill her? An unfamiliar guilt crept up in his gut under her steady gaze and he shook his head in regret, then told her the only honest thing he thought he could say.

"I'm on your side right now. Whatever comes later, for right now, I'm on your side."

"And what is my side?"

"Hmm?"

"What constitutes, in your mind, 'my side'?"

Well, your guild, I suppose. The Horde in general, and your guild specifically. Or is that not who you're fighting for?"

She stopped her polishing and rested her wrists on her knees. The blade of the knife caught the red glow of the nearby lava pits as it swayed slightly and she stared out into the gray twilight that managed to filter down through the thick clouds above. "It's more _what_ I'm fighting for, rather than _who._ But without the who, there is no what, so I suppose you're right."

"All I understood from that was the part where I'm right, so I'll declare myself satisfied."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "There's a goal here, Tariq. I can't tell you what it is yet, but you ought to know that it isn't for me, it's not for the Horde, it's not even for Shadowshield. If it works it'll be for all the _endhi_ in this blasted world."

"If you're trying to get us all home you might as well give up. There's simply no way to discover one until we know how we were brought here."

Her eyes twinkled. "My point is that I'm the best person for your guild in the long run, though you might not see it."

He groaned. "You aren't making any sense right now."

"Fine. I'll wake you when it's your watch."

"Right. See you then."

She made no reply, and his eyelids felt heavy, so he gave in quickly when sleep came. For now the best thing was to focus on the day ahead. One goal at a time. And tomorrow's goal was Blackrock Mountain.

* * *

The next morning dawned as all the others had, with a dull, red light. Tariq roused Dawnwaker and checked her bandages quickly before they both had a quick bite of stale bread and packed the remaining supplies in preparation for the dash through the mountain. A trepidation filled the air, and she could tell it affected them both equally, though the druid had been through here once when traveling north from Stormwind. Even now as he checked and rechecked the nightsaber's rig he kept glancing up at the looming darkness before them and the smoky clouds that gathered around its unseen summit.

"You said you saw nothing on the way up, yes?"

The look he gave her was pained. "Nothing but rock and lava. No orcs, but that doesn't mean they aren't there now." He gave one of the straps a final tug and turned resolutely to the ancient stone road. Dawnwaker looked over the mount with a critical eye once more, but she had to admit they could do nothing to lighten the packs further. Practically all of the food was gone, and the water, she and Tariq were wearing all of their armor and she carried the knife, the only remotely heavy weapon they had between them. All that was left to weigh the packs down were the bedrolls and the tent, and a few dwindling pots of medicine. She eyed the tent thoughtfully; they hadn't used it since the leaving the rockfall she had recovered in several days before.

"Let's dump the tent."

Tariq turned and raised his eyebrows in silent question.

"We don't need it here, and we can get another in Lakeshire. It's not worth the weight."

He grimaced. "I wish you'd thought of that last night." Then he shrugged and unstrapped the large roll of canvas, and to her surprise began undoing the fastenings. Only when he started tearing off strips and unpicking some of the threading did she understand. Most of the tent was left there, but a few strips for bandages, thread for repairing armor, and two of the slender supporting struts for splints were stashed safely away in the packs that remained. He was thinking like a healer, and much as Dawnwaker hoped they would need none of these things, she was glad he had thought to scavenge them all the same.

"Are you ready? Can you make it?"

"Can you?"

These were not idle questions. She could tell he was badly dehydrated, and her side was still slowing her down some. In the past few days she had noticed that though the wound did not hurt as much it greatly limited the range of motion of her left arm, and twisting into any sort of acrobatic stance caused a shooting pain. If it came to a fight she would be stiff and at a bad disadvantage with her agility so affected. Hopefully they could sneak through the mountain undetected. So instead of answering the druid's question she gave him a quick nod and they set off up the mountain at a slow but steady jog. He assumed his cat form to tread more lightly and the nightsaber, following her hand signals, lightened its feet as well. That was the advantage to such a mount, she thought, to muffle a horse's hooves took much more time and effort and they were never really silent, not on rock. Now they were all moving quietly, and if they were able to keep up this pace they might conceivably make it through in one run. After all, the toughest climb was on this side: once they reached the gates it was all downhill. But for now it was steep. Still, they managed to gain the gated ledge by midday, with only two brief stops for rest and a sip of the precious water each. Dawnwaker studied the doors while Tariq returned the waterskin to the nightsaber's gear. One was open, just as she remembered it being from before the Rising, but the flickering glow and the fumes that poured from the gap were a whole other story.

"You sure it's dormant?" she called softly over her shoulder. Tariq moved to her side with a frown.

"I never said it was dormant. Certainly it hasn't erupted in years as far as I've heard, but with Blackrock…"

"…you never know," she finished. He nodded glumly. She sighed and was attempting to prepare herself for another jog when she saw it. Tariq glanced at her sharply when she moved to the side away from the doors, but then hissed slightly in a quiet noise that could have been relief or dread. She reached the stone and traced the small indentation with one finger. A simplified shield and dagger had been burnt into the rock, next to an eagle with a sword in its talons. Carefully she felt all around the heavy stone, then hooked her fingertips in the best edge she could find and began to pull. The druid joined her quickly and together they were able to pull it free of the surrounding boulders. In the space it left behind was a large waterskin and another sack that on closer inspection held the tough dry bread that had no scent and was favored by travelers in lands featuring hostile animals. Hardly believing her eyes she turned and put a hand on the sign on the rock as Tariq gulped down a few sips of the water.

"They know we're alive. They know we're alive!"

"Or at least they hope we are." She glanced at him sharply, then realized that the remark was only born out of common sense. Still, the mark of her guild encouraged her as nothing else had for weeks. She continued to kneel by the stone as he secured the new supplies to the rig and came to take a closer look at the marks himself.

"I take it that's Shadowshield?" He laid a finger on the shield.

"Yes. But I don't know what the eagle is."

"That's my guild." He ran a finger over the blackened lines. "Eagle and sword. Do you think…"

"…that this means they're working together?" She frowned. "This is hardly evidence of that. And besides, they can't know that we're traveling together or else they'd have left provisions for two. As it is this will barely get us halfway through the Burning Steppes."

A slow grin had now spread over his face. "Oh, you can never tell. I did think that your Gether might get along better with Hunter than you did. And we can make the provisions last."

She stood with a grunt, all good humor now gone. Whatever hope he might speak of, whatever cooperation he yearned for, she knew better. The kind of eagerness to be accepted by the Alliance leaders in Stormwind that had led to the attempted assassination of Sylvanas would not be overcome with a few weeks of travel with a Horde guild. Even if it were there were too many prejudices to fall back on, and should all wrongs be forgiven there was still the issue of trust. She and Tariq may have come to a sort of truce but she was all too aware of the sideways glances he gave her when he thought she wasn't looking, as if she might suddenly turn on him as she had before, with the intent to torture or kill. He didn't understand that when she had done that he had been a threat, and she had just been protecting her own. It was true that her actions had gone beyond the necessary amount of discipline, but if she had forgiven him for choking her to get past those guards, then surely he could forgive her in turn. Fear and distrust…right now these were the enemy, and they were present here in great numbers. If only he knew what she was really here for, he would be all too glad to put his life and the lives of his guild members back in her hands. But for now his eyes were suspicious, but a with a little bit of cautious hope deep within. She, thankfully, was past most of that due to the lengths he had taken to save her life. Perhaps if she voiced those sentiments he might come a little closer. But then again perhaps not.

Shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts she turned to the open door and set her jaw. Right now was the time for silence, stealth, and speed. Tariq stood, waiting patiently and at her hand signal returned to his cat form and they darted into the yawning darkness.


	15. The Burning Land

Dawnwaker had intended to simply run and not stop running until she had passed through the lower gates on the other side of the vast mountain, but the site before her brought her to an involuntary stop. The nightsaber followed her lead and Tariq checked himself before he dashed ahead, giving her a questioning glance that looked strange coming out of the cat's eyes. She paid them no mind and looked all around, her heart sinking as she did. Since coming to Azeroth she had compared many of the lands and places she where she had been to hell, but the bowels of this mountain matched the stories as nowhere else had. It was dark, completely so, except for the weak red glow that crawled languidly from the lava far below and could only creep so high. Blackness stretched above them; there was no knowing where ceiling of the cavern was, for the red light could not reach it. A great island of stone hung suspended by enormous chains in the center of the cave, appearing as if it might fall into the slowly churning sea below it at any moment. The road stretched away down either side of the expanse, leading to yawning tunnels one way and a great bridge that spanned the molten rock the other. She had already marked that out as their way in order to avoid the orcs and other fiends that inhabited the tunnels, but looking at it now she was suddenly unsure of the decision. The other way gave the wall to huddle beside whatever small measure of comfort the cold stone could give, but another look at those dark archways sealed the decision. They would take the bridge. She took a deep breath to steady herself and almost gagged on the air. The spectacle before her had distracted her from the atmosphere around them; she felt as if it would be all she could do to take a step through this soup. It was _hot_ and smelled of sulfur and burning flesh. But worst of all was the silence. Even the lava flowed by noiselessly, and every step they took would surely echo through the place. The weight of the mountain seemed to press in, as if the cavern was shrinking, and she found herself taking a step backward toward the door and the light and air filtering through it. The Searing Gorge seemed like an oasis compared to this…

Something cool brushed her hand and she looked down, startled to see the druid. He snarled quietly and began moving off again toward the depths of the mountain, and even without his speaking it was as if she could hear him telling her to pull it together, they had to catch the caravan. The caravan, of which there was absolutely no sign of. Meaning they had already passed safely through, or had been taken one and all by the orcs. But no, there would have been signs of a battle, half-burnt wreckage in the red lake below… With another quick intake of the thick air she took off after Tariq, settling her feet into a steady rhythm that would move her quickly down the slope without risk of losing her balance. The nightsaber matched her pace, paws moving over the stone with barely a whisper, and for the first time since she entered the cavern her mind seemed to clear and a grim determination gave her feet a little more speed. If an enormous, noisy caravan could pass through safely then surely the three of them, subtle as they were, would have nothing to worry about. But the sense of menace still hung thick, as if something horrible might descend on them at any moment. Stubbornly pushing that aside she concentrated on her feet and the pattern of her breathing.

They were forced to stop in the center of the span by the need for water, but they did not linger long. It felt hotter the lower they went, and Dawnwaker could feel the soles of her boots beginning to stick to the stone. Uneasily she took her share of water. A stray drop fell to the ground and hissed into steam when it made contact. Neither she nor Tariq commented on that, and when the waterskin was secure the druid shifted back to his cat form and they were off again. It was much later that she thought with chagrin to wonder what the searing flagstones were doing to his paws if they were hot enough to melt her boots. But he said nothing, and silence held for the entire duration of the run. At last she came to the point where she was certain she could go no further, her legs ready to collapse and her side hurting more than it ever had since it had been tended, but they both stumbled they kept doggedly on. Then suddenly Tariq sped up, and moments later she caught the same scent he must have: clean air. With a muffled choked cry she surged after him, the nightsaber coming behind at an unsteady trot. There was no light coming through the partially open doors at the bottom, but the subtle flow of cool air… And abruptly they were out of the mountain under a canopy of clouds through which a few stars managed to peek by way of a small gap. Dawnwaker stopped, gasping for breath, dimly aware that next to her Tariq was doing the same. The nightsaber made a small, weak noise and went down on the flagstones, still huffing and whining. She carefully dribbled some of the water into its mouth, then handed the skin off to the druid. He took it gratefully and spoke between breaths.

"Can't…stay here. Have…have to get…down…"

She felt like weeping. Nothing else seemed to matter now but rest and sleep, and sleep well she would even with the yawning door full of fumes and terror directly at her back. Normally the air of the Burning Steppes would seem harsh she was sure, but now it felt like the air from the tops of the mountains in the Howling Fjord, perfectly clean and crisp. Every muscle she had burned and cried out in pain, her lungs could not work fast enough. Surely they could stay here-her eye caught something then, down in the vastness of the Steppes. Carefully she staggered a few steps to a large boulder to support herself and then squinted into the distance.

"Tariq…look."

He groaned, but came up beside her. She lifted a trembling arm to point out what she thought she saw.

"Lights."

She relaxed, glad that he had seen them too. There were small bits of light scattered wildly over the plain beneath them, of course, marking the various villages of the denizens that dared to live here, but this group of lights blazed out from all the others, a different sort of torchlight. Somehow, even from this distance it seemed cleaner and brighter. And it was very far away. Turning away from the sight she slid down to the ground with the rock at her back, feeling satisfaction that the caravan was safe and well, but also a weariness at how distant it was. For once it made no difference, she could go no farther. But then a hand gripped her arm and tugged weakly, and she looked up into Tariq's desperate eyes.

"I can't. I simply can't."

"We can." His voice sounded worse than hers did, but his eyes told a different story. She watched in dazed awareness as he lifted one arm toward the sky, squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. A light flashed then, blue-white like lightening, and if she hadn't been so tired she would have thought she saw something like electricity dancing around him like a coronal discharge. But then there was nothing and he slumped back over and reached for her arm again. His fingers touched her sleeve, and suddenly she thought the lightening might not have been her eyes playing tricks, for every hair stood on end and she felt immediately energized, though the pain in her muscles did not cease.

"Come on," the druid said, "we can go."

Her body screamed as she got to her feet, her legs wailed as they got the nightsaber up, and they went down the mountain in such a fog that she could not recount later how they had done it. Perhaps they had run, or walked, or simply fallen down, it was all the same. She later realized that this had in fact been the most dangerous part of the mountain, for no light pierced the cloud cover overhead and should one of them have stumbled over the edge of the causeway in the darkness they would have fallen far into sharp rocks or the river and pools of magma over which the roadway arched. But somehow none of that happened, and somehow they found themselves at the base of the road, where the flagstones became irregular and the ashy road wound away from the large boulders that marked the way up to Blackrock. By then the clouds had begun to take on an orange tint as the sun rose high above them. But for once day made no difference and they collapsed in the shadow of a rockfall and kept no watch.

* * *

When Dawnwaker woke she felt as if she might in fact have fallen into one of those lava pools. Needles pierced every inch of her, driving their way through screaming muscles to the bone. She gasped as she tried to sit up, but her body was having none of it. Very stiffly, she managed to prop herself up against the nearest rock, then began systematically stretching each limb as carefully as she could. Care made no difference, the pain was excruciating. There was a whisper of leather on rock to her right, and she looked over to see Tariq also trying to reawaken his arms and legs. He gave her a rueful glance.

"A note from the healer, don't push yourself so hard in one day and then sleep on the ground."

She grunted. "No argument here." A few more moments spent working the worst of the stiffness and she felt ready to attempt something more. Unfortunately her legs did not agree and and she slid back to the ground with clenched teeth. If standing was out of the question, then their travel time today would be measured in finger lengths rather than strides. Biting back a curse she instead pulled herself over to the whimpering nightsaber and began massaging its legs, silently urging it to begin its own efforts to stand.

"Come on you big baby, you've gone from a ferocious beast to a kitten in what, a week? Come on, that's right, one leg, good boy, now the other…"

Tariq watched silently as she talked to the mount, but she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. They would push themselves to whatever lengths now to reach their guilds, but they wouldn't go so hard as to kill themselves. That pace, however, might kill the mount. It was already far too thin, and the once glossy coat was dull. She winced as she ran a hand over the protruding ribs and wondering how she had let it become so gaunt. They had been feeding it more than the two of them were eating together, but even that wasn't enough for the giant cat, and it needed a good meal soon. At least the packs were light. At her encouragement the nightsaber slowly got each leg under itself and shakily stood, but it was only able to take two steps before collapsing back to the ground. Dawnwaker couldn't blame it, she felt much the same. Something landed in the dust between the saber's paws, it snapped the hunk of bread up quickly and went back to whining. She hushed it quickly and glanced around, suddenly more nervous than before. If the Searing Gorge had been a hostile place then this was the devil's playground. Even Stormwind would feel safer. But they had lasted the night without being found, so there was a good chance nothing was nearby. Hopefully there were no beasts near enough to hear the poor mount and decide it might make a nice meal. And if there were…well she could use a nice meal herself.

She glanced up just in time to catch the bit of bread Tariq managed to toss in her direction. The motion caused another set of needles to lance their way up her arm, but she ignored it and clamped down on the tough bread instead, letting her jaw release the frustration building inside her. Tariq looked equally chagrined.

"We should have just camped. We won't be able to make any time today at all." His tone betrayed his disgust with himself for letting them go on and she quickly corrected him.

"The point of that sprint was to get quickly through the mountain, not to catch the others. We succeeded. Here we are on the other side, not dead. Ergo, success."

He didn't smile, but some of the tenseness faded from his face. She finished the bread and began stretching her legs again, only to find them quite as disagreeable as before. Instead she took a quick inventory of the rest of her body and suddenly had more sympathy for the nightsaber. Like it, she thought, she might start whimpering at any moment. The wound in her side stilled seemed to be holding together; it was only a dull ache, but her lips were chapped, her stomach moaned in protest of its emptiness, the pounding headache signaled the need for more water and the landscape seemed to swim before her eyes every now and then. And as if it was the pebble that sank the boat, she was dirty. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a decent wash, unless she counted the dousing under the Thandol Span. Normally she could put up with a week or so like that, in times of great need, but to be this weary and such a mess was almost too much. Her armor was caked with dust and ash, and her tunic stuck to her skin with a tenacity she had rarely seen. Limp strands of hair scraped their way across the back of her neck; her dark hair had grown longer than she liked it and the ends were scraggly. Without warning her thoughts burst through her censoring barrier and spilled out in an uncharacteristic moan.

"Will I never be well again? Ugh!"

To his credit, the healer didn't answer, apparently understanding that the question was rhetorical. She groaned again all the same, feeling as if she might not ever be able to remember what it felt like to be well-rested. What she wanted right now wasn't even a bed, but just a well-appointed camp, with a sturdy tent and a soft bedroll and something juicy roasting over a good fire. Unfortunately none of that was possible at the moment. She dragged her mind back from the daydream to something more attainable, the immediate needs that needed attending. First were her aching muscles, and next was something to eat, whether it be juicy or not. Suddenly it occurred to her that if the noisy nightsaber _did_ attract company it would save them the trouble of having to track something down. Of course here that something could be anything from a few scorpids to a whole camp of ogres. She didn't feel much like eating ogre.

At that moment Tariq hissed and pointed. A small worg was shuffling its way around another fall of boulders about thirty yards down the road. She instantly prodded the nightsaber with the toe of her boot and it let out a plaintive howl. But rather than perking up and coming in for a kill, the small worg shied behind two of the larger stones and did not emerge. The druid sighed and shrugged, wincing as he did so.

"We may as well settle down here for another night. Its already starting to get dark again."

"Its just the clouds," she replied absently, her eyes still on the distant boulders. If she could just get down there…

"No, we need to rest, and we need to keep watch. Those things tend to travel in packs you know, if they got to us now…"

He continued, but Dawnwaker paid no attention. The worg had been small and thin, clearly a runt and probably a castoff from whatever pack it had been running with. If she could just lure it closer…but no. The only weapon she had was the long knife, and it was only good for close combat. It was a good weapon, but not balanced enough for throwing, and she wasn't in any shape to deliver a killing blow from any range. But seven suns, she was _hungry_. Tariq gave a startled yelp as she snatched the sack of bread away, grabbed one piece out, and hurled it as far down the road as she possibly could.

"Jal! Throw stones if you want to frighten it, not the bread! Blast it-"

"Shut up and stay still." The worg had apparently heard the food land, it was edging out from behind the rocks now, tentatively sniffing the air. Tariq lifted an arm as if to deliver a magical blow that might frighten it off and she slapped it down. Seeing no danger, the beast now approached the bread and eagerly consumed it, then began snuffling around for more. He quickly found some, a little further up the road, a little closer to them. The third piece Dawnwaker threw only a few yards. Now her attention was split between her prey and the nightsaber, who was growing increasingly more agitated. But as the worg sniffed the last piece, she took her hand off Tariq's arm.

"Now."

With a glare at her he sent a blast of moonfire directly into the poor beast, effectively killing and barbecuing it all at once. Half-walking half-crawling she made her way to the body, then slowly dragged it back to the nightsaber and dumped it front of the mount after making certain its bridle was well out of the way. The cat dug in enthusiastically and she leaned back against the rock in satisfied exhaustion.

"Okay. Now we can make camp."

Tariq let out an exasperated sigh. "'Can' being a flexible word. Unless you have a plan to conjure up another worg. This bread might keep us alive, but it's not exactly energizing."

She pretended not to hear the sarcasm. "There aren't many worgs in this land to begin with. We got lucky with that one."

The druid didn't speak again until he managed to lever himself up against a rock where he could see down the road a little better. Then, once he caught his breath, he began running his finger through the dust. At first she thought he was just idly occupying his hands, but then she recognized a pattern and moved closer for a better look. He didn't pause, and he frowned as he spoke.

"We need a plan. All we've been doing is running helter-skelter like a pair of novices fresh out of the city. If we keep this up we'll probably kill ourselves before we catch up to everyone, and we'll definitely kill the mount." He shook his head. "I just don't see how to rest and repair until we hit Lakeshire, and if we go slow until then… I guess I'm saying that speed still needs to be a priority."

She studied the shapes he'd drawn. "Burning Steppes."

"Yes. At least what I remember."

She didn't hesitate as she reached out and swept a hand over the dirt, obliterating his map. Now was the time for efficiency, and right now she had a better memory than him. Or perhaps she simply had better hands. Quickly and surely her fingers sketched out new lines in the dust, outlining mountains and gullies, highlighting lava pools and marking villages. This was what she was good at, and had she risen in a place like Dalaran rather than Naxxramas, she might had ended up simply doing this instead of running all over Azeroth in what basically amounted to an elaborate suicide attempt. The thought made her frown, so she concentrated more closely on her drawing and in a matter of moments had a very passable map of the region sketched out in the dust. Tariq's frustration quickly collapsed into obvious fascination as he watched, and when she sat back against the rock to survey her work, he stared for a full minute before speaking up again.

"How did you do that?"

"I'm good with maps," she shrugged. "I remember places and distances and directions well, and once I've got that, putting it down is easy. But this might be part of our answer."

"Answer to…"

"Answer to our traveling problem. The road here winds a lot, not because it has to, but just because it was made by several different civilizations with several different purposes that can probably be boiled down to defense, invasion, and evasion. If we cut across the land in a straight line, we'll make up a lot of the time we've lost. Plus we'll avoid all the nasty things that use the road here."

"What about beasts and mobs?"

"There aren't very many beasts here to begin with, and if we're traveling at a more reasonable pace we should be able to handle the occasional worg or elemental. And as for mobs, we'll just sneak past. We seem to be fairly good at skulking about."

"That's speed and distance then. Food?"

"How about worg? Or we can steal some from the locals."

The look on his face told her exactly what he thought of that idea, but it wasn't a distaste for thievery. "Do you know what they _eat_ around here?"

"It'll be better than starving."

He made a disgusted sound, but obviously had to agree. "That's that then. And since today's light will be gone shortly, I suggest we spend one more night here. Perhaps in the morning we'll be in better shape to move and hunt."

Now it was her turn to look disgusted, but she had to agree as well.


	16. A Death

The next morning there were fewer aches, but they still were slow to get up and get moving. There was nothing for breakfast but a bit of the dry bread for themselves and the nightsaber; it had finished off the worg completely the night before and had cleaned every inch of the bones. They rationed the water carefully, though Tariq did use a little extra to clean the gash in her side as he checked it and changed the dressings. It still bothered her just as he had warned, but it was easy to forget among all the other physical grievances. She watched closely as he carefully secured the ends of the bandages, attempting to commit the technique to memory. Certainly she would never have his skill but she could and would eventually have to perform her own first aid again and she might as well learn as much as possible.

"Were you a doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"Before the Rising. Were you a doctor?"

He blinked at her a few times as he always did when she asked questions about his former life. She did the same, of course, the longer she was here the blurrier the details got.

"No, I was an aid worker."

"Ah, that fits." She got to her feet carefully, as all her movements had to be right now. One foot in front of the other. An aid worker? She could have guessed that, in this world he seemed to have an inexplicable need to help anyone he could, even one like her, his enemy.

"And you?"

"Me?"

"Yes. What did you do?"

She paused for a moment, attempting to bring those memories back from wherever they had sunk. When she found them they brought a rush of sorrow for a world long lost and goal much different than the journey she sought now.

"I was an artist."

"Really? That…doesn't seem to fit."

She shrugged and brushed her foot across the map she had drawn, erasing it and all other evidence of their presence here. "I use my skill for maps and other inscriptions these days. What were you expecting?"

"Oh, a soldier, maybe, or some sort of manager. You're a good leader when you try to be."

"Hah!" she laughed. "No, I'm much more a loner than a leader. Gether is the one with those skills."

"Yet he was your second."

"And a very patient second. It's a good thing he's in charge now, I'm sure. How did you have time to play warcraft if you were an aid worker?"

"I didn't play very regularly, just when I was stateside. How did you afford to play if you were an artist?"

"Hey now! Artists can earn money, same as anyone else."

"Not in the world I come from." He said it seriously, but the grin he wore was full of mischief. Despite herself she grinned back, and for a moment it was almost like being home with a friend, but the illusion was shattered immediately by a distant rumble, and the gray world she lived in now came rushing back with the view.

"That'll be Blackrock. We'd better get moving."

He responded by helping get the nightsaber up and they moved carefully off on their chosen line, using the distant peak of a mountain to keep them straight. The ash and dust were much softer than the road, but their pace was slow enough to begin with and the terrain did not make much difference. Dawnwaker attempted once to drag the half-seen world of her past back into view, but even that attempt at short memory was shattered at the druid's next question.

"So were you always a killer? Or did that only happen when you came here?"

Her skin went cold then, and any remaining semblance of a good mood crashed at how easily he had seen through her. She knew what she was, certainly, but usually she hid it behind a mask of civility, or, if that was impossible, then behind the soldier facade of one who only fights to protect, and because they know they must. She hadn't thought he would have seen past that one, all the way down to the part of her foundation that she before the Rising would have been ashamed of, but now was so necessary for her survival. Her answer was short and clipped.

"People change when they rise."

"Do they change that much?"

"Seems so. I wasn't running around killing folk back then."

"But you would if you had to."

She sighed. He wasn't going to let it go. "I suppose I always was capable of killing, if that's what you mean. Perhaps it was always in me, but I never needed to use it until I came here. Perhaps if things had happened differently…"

He was silent for a while then, and when he spoke again his voice was studiously indifferent. "I think there are many traits the Rising enhanced in us, and all might be useful if they are controlled. Perhaps you were meant to shed blood for the good of a larger purpose you can't yet see."

Had it been any other topic she would have made a snide remark or at least laughed at such an idea, but now she replied quietly, "Yes, perhaps." Thankfully after that he dropped the subject and they continued on in steady silence until night began to fall, thought she did catch him looking at her oddly every now and again. Fortunately, as they were preparing to stop for the night, she saw something to take both their minds off the conversation. A pack of ember worgs were settling down in the distance, appearing and disappearing between the low hills as they fought over whatever scraps of meat they had managed to amass that day. It took some careful maneuvering, but by the time they made camp that night the mount was not the only one feasting on roasted wolf. By the time dawn came nothing had bothered them; apparently the beasts of this land were easily frightened, a fact that was not comforting. It only meant the inhabitants were dangerous enough to cause the predators to behave like prey, but when the population consisted mainly of orcs, ogres, and dragonkin, that wasn't hard to believe.

They spent the next few days traveling steadily and eating much better than they had before, thanks to the skittish worgs and lazy orc guards. Each time they passed a camp or a village Dawnwaker would sneak inside, gather as much as she could carry and slip back out before the dumb brutes noticed anything was missing. The two times the guards seemed more alert Tariq caused a diversion and the theft was even easier, though she had argued that the extra danger to him wasn't necessary. They were making good time, but even a small wound could delay them. Every hour seemed like a day. Occasionally they would try to estimate just how far ahead the caravan was, but there had been no way to mark the distance of the lights they had seen from Blackrock Mountain and eventually the exercise was given up as useless. Still, they were covering ground well and she had hopes of catching them by Lakeshire at the latest. On the third day out they managed a particularly tricky infiltration during which Dawnwaker did have to dispatch one of the orcs. She had been avoiding this so as to not raise an alarm, but this had been necessary and in addition to the food she now had another small dagger for her left hand. This improved her mood even more, so much so that as they were finishing off their meal that night she broached a topic that she would previously have never imagined bringing up.

"Do we have to be enemies?"

There wasn't even a 'hmm?' this time, she had taken Tariq by so much surprise. She gave his dumbstruck face a long-suffering look and put a bit of exasperation in her voice.

"I mean the Horde and Alliance _endhi_. We all have the same goal, so why fight?"

Tariq sucked the last bit of meat off a bone, tossed it aside, wiped his mouth carefully and turned to face her.

"Yes, why fight?" The tone of his voice was several degrees cooler than hers, and that might have thrown her off if she hadn't been so determined to sound him out about the idea.

"We fight because we're loyal to two different factions. But we weren't here when they began their quarrels. Why are we so loyal?"

"Because they protect us, provide us with supplies, that sort of thing."

"Yes, but you can get that as a neutral as well."

"Not as easily."

"But it can be done."

"Not if all the _endhi_ abandoned their factions and became neutral. That's a good way to get eradicated."

"You're right. But I'm not talking about all the _endhi_. I'm talking about us."

"I can't be a neutral. I'm loyal to my guild, and my guild is Alliance."

"And I'm loyal to my guild, and my guild is Horde. But more importantly I am loyal to the _members_ of my guild. And they are _endhi._"

"So…"

"So, so are yours. That's what it comes down to."

"And what am I supposed to be convinced of by this?"

"I'm just…" She stopped with a huff. Words were not her strong suit, she was much better at actions, especially lethal ones. With an effort at patience she got the words out. "We work well together. That last raid on the watchtower? It was brilliant. I'm just saying that for now we ought to put our factions aside and work together without regard."

He eyed her suspiciously. "We already are working together. I keep you alive and you don't bash my head in. So far it's working pretty well."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about those looks you keep giving me, like I'm a bomb that's about to go off. You can't hardly fall asleep at night for fear I'll do something crazy. And I've had enough of it." All of the good humor had gone out of her voice now. The anger she hadn't even been aware of was about to boil out, and she focused it into her voice until it was like a tight deadly beam. "I understand now that you are concerned for your people. But you need to understand that you don't have the whole picture. I don't either, I admit, but I know a blasted sight more than you do and it's becoming clearer everyday. What I need right now is for you to trust me, and that seems easiest to do by convincing you that I am not working toward just the Horde _endhi's_ good, or theAlliance _endhi's_ good, but all _endhi's_ good. Right now, at this moment, I am a neutral. When we reach our people necessity will dictate that I be Horde again, but in the end I am nothing but an _endhi_. And I am tired of looking over my shoulder at you, never certain if I can absolutely count on you when the worst comes. I can't have that, not right now, and so I need you to trust me."

He sat looking at her for several more moments, then shook his head. "You're making it very difficult, you know."

"For you to trust me?"

"For me to think of you as a remorseless Horde rogue."

"Then quit listening to what I say and look for yourself," she muttered. "Maybe I'll prove it to you eventually."

"Maybe one day you'll trust me enough to tell me everything that's going on."

For a moment they glared at each other, then he held out his hand.

"Truce?"

She sighed and shook. "Truce."

He seemed to sleep well that night, but she did not, for the wound in her side had begun to ache again.

* * *

Their target peak was looming closer now than ever, and Dawnwaker's eyes darted everywhere as she watched for enemies, landmarks, and most importantly, the road. If they had traveled correctly then they should pass through this shallow valley and run straight into it a little before evening fell. From there it was an easy trek down to the Redridge Mountains. They walked carefully, for Tariq had spotted evidence of several dens of worgs, and these were much larger than those they had previously been hunting. Morning was not the time to take down a 200 pound wolf. They certainly couldn't carry it with them. No, hopefully there would still be one or two about when time came for them to camp that night. For now it was dried strips of yesterday's kill, and light feet to slip by any that crossed their path before they were ready. Today was different though, for instead of the light conversation that had sprinkled the previous treks, a stiff silence had shrouded them both. Dawnwaker was still feeling the sting from the night before and her silence was born of pride and chagrin for thinking to bring up such an issue, while Tariq appeared to simply be giving her space, though the strange looks continued. That only made her seethe a little more, but she kept it well hidden. At last the outcropping to their left began to level out and they emerged from the valley to find the land sloping gently away from them down to a scar that crawled over the land and could only be the road. There was no sign of the caravan, but she was confident that once they were down on the path and could look up it to the mountain pass they would as least catch a glimpse of a dust cloud. They couldn't be that far ahead.

After a hasty lunch they resumed their quickening pace. Tariq was eager too, she could tell, but she focused on keeping her eyes moving, ever watchful. Even so, it was the druid who spotted the worg first. He was big, and standing directly in their path, but the way was wide and their time wouldn't be hurt too much by going around. But by now… She hissed softly that this looked like supper and Tariq quietly agreed. In all the days they had been here the Burning Steppes had not produced so much as one breath of wind, and now the trend held, so it was an easy thing to get close to the beast without being noticed, and with one swift stroke she sliced its throat open. It snapped at her and she jumped back out of reach as it began to sink to the ground and watched passively as the blood continued to gush. In a few more moments it was quite dead and safe to approach again. She was just kneeling by its head when something seemed to crawl up the back of her neck and she heard Tariq call out, a disturbingly loud noise in the silence.

"Jal, look out!"

She didn't have time to spin before it hit her, something large and dark and very heavy. A sharp edge struck at her chest but she turned in time for her spaulder to deflect the blow and she followed through the motion in a roll, coming up with weapons in both hands, looking sharply around for a target. The target found her first, and in a blur of black and gold she was suddenly on the ground again, struggling against the great weight. There was a glimpse of glowing green eyes with snakelike slit pupils and then the tip of the pike was coming at her again, straight for her face. She managed to shift in time to miss it and the assailant gave a snarl of frustration as it wrenched the blade from the ground and angled it for another blow. It never landed, as a dark blue violet blur slammed into it, and suddenly the weight pinning her was gone. Quickly she rolled to her feet once again and got a good look at her attacker for the first time. It was a black dragonspawn, massive with muscle. Fangs stuck out of its gaping mouth, red armor scraped against its own scales. Its clawed feet were huge and would probably be capable of crushing her easily. Tariq was circling it now in his cat form, teeth bared in a snarl, blood running down his fur from a shallow cut over his back. She adjusted her grips on the knife and dagger and was about to move in when another motion flickered in the corner of her eye and she heard her nightsaber growl. There were two more of the dragonkin coming up the hill, apparently alerted by the first one, bristling with weaponry. So far there were only dragonspawn though, and no wyrmkin. That was good. Shifting into a ready stance she prepared to meet the second one. Her mount could handle the third.

But as the enormous pike came swinging at her, she knew they were not in a good position. All of them were recovering from the journey thanks to the food and the slower pace, but her movements were still stiff. She was probably operating at half her normal ability at the most if she had to guess. Still, nothing connected long enough to give her more than a scratch, and she was doing well, dancing in and out among them, stabbing here, slicing there. Tariq's target went down with a howl that served to distract her own opponent for a deadly second and then her knife slashed up through its exposed throat, ending its mistakes forever. She turned to help the nightsaber, but then stopped as her heart dropped into her stomach. Four more dragonspawn had joined the fight while she'd been distracted. Tariq was bleeding more heavily now, and the nightsaber had received several cuts of its own. But there was no retreat from this, it was survival. She moved in on light feet, forgetting her aching muscles and sore arms, forgetting the limitations on her own movements and attacked. Dimly she was aware of her two allies, dimly she was aware of the blood pouring thick and slicking the sand, and her feet moved of their own accord to compensate. All her eyes saw were the chinks in the dragonkin's armor, the cracks in its scales. She moved like water, flowing around the claws and blades, dodging and evading with acrobatics she had not been able to use for a time now and should not be able to move now. Together she and the nightsaber took down one more with fangs to the belly and a dagger to the eyes, and then another was disemboweled by the knife. Panting, she turned to see how the druid was doing with his dragonspawn and suddenly the world froze in a moment. Every rock, every grain of sand suddenly stood out in sharp relief. The whole land seemed to glow, it was screaming at her, and then the fire came. She could feel the exact shape of it, the delicately curved edges that led to a point, the cruel back hook that curved the other way, the slender, finely sanded shaft. Then something grasped it and tore it from her and her blurring vision caught a glimpse of the grim face of the dragonkin that held the bloody spear high as it opened its mouth to bellow in victory. _No_, she thought, _I'll not give you that_. One hand she pressed to her stomach and the other pushed her from the ground. The knife had somehow left her grip, but in this state she didn't need it. The victory cry cut off in surprise as she rushed the monster and snatched the spear from its fingers; it scrambled to grab it back, but it was too late. She had already turned it around and even as the dragonspawn attempted to cease its forward motion she drove the weapon straight in. The enemy gurgled briefly, bile spilling from its mouth, and somewhere else deep in the mountains there echoed another cry.

There was just enough strength left in her arm to drive the spear further into the snarling wyrmkin, then, as it fell dead, she collapsed to her knees. The world spun. Looking down all she could see were her hands, moving as if with their own minds to hold her insides from passing through the gaping wound. Red was everywhere, seeping through her fingers, covering her armor, even the ground and the sky seemed to blaze. Dimly she was aware of large shapes moving about, another roar from the druid grated in her ears, and screeching followed as the last two opponents fell… Her hands went limp, she had nothing left with which to hold back the tide. She could feel it now, rushing around her, whispering her name. It reminded her of the sea, and she wished that she could have seen it just once more before dying in these burning hills. Then the whispers became shouts and something grabbed her hands, her arms, holding her upright. Her head moved slowly toward the sound, the mist still playing before her eyes. It was him, the druid. _Tariq. _His words cut through the fog and grated her ears, she could feel them turning to ribbons.

"Jal! Jal, just focus. Keep your eyes open. I'll fix this, just hold on."

Her lips stretched in a weak smile and she gripped his hand as tightly as she could, which was barely at all. "You can't fix this, Tariq."

"No. _No._ Stay still." The glimpses she caught of his face only made her sadder; his forehead wrinkled in concentration, his eyes shadowed, teeth biting down so hard on his lip that they drew blood to add to the river already pouring from his many untended wounds. He kept her hands in one of his, the other working frantically in his vain attempt to stem the flow of life from her. But she knew better. She had seen mortal wounds before, had seen the limits of healers. This was too much now. There was nothing he could do. Indeed he should be glad she was going. A great sorrow filled her then and for a brief moment all she could think of was that none would remember her now, there would be no one to weep at her grave. It would be shallow, covered in ash, unmarked by necessity in this hostile land. No flowers to grow in the dust, no autumn leaves to warm her bones, the only sky it would see would be red, shrouded in vapors. Her eyes went up, up to the heavens then and she wished earnestly for a tiny spot of blue to seep through, just a tiny ray of sun. She hoped, even as she despaired. A hand slick with blood cupped the back of her head and brought her gaze back to bright amber eyes.

"Stay with me, Jal."

He had such hope. She could feel the wind tugging her away and still he had hope. She had to make him see, had to make him understand.

"No, you have to go."

"No-"

"Go. Go on. Have to…catch…"

"We'll both make it there, you'll see, just-"

"_No._" She held his eyes as well as she could with her fading gaze and struggled to raise her hand toward her neck where Sylvanas' amulet hung. He reached it first and held it in his hand, then unclasped it at her gesture. With the last of her energy she made a motion for him to put it around his own neck, and when he did so she finally relaxed. His grip tightened, as if by only that he could keep her here. She put a finger on the amulet.

"Keep…safe. Find Geth-Gether. Give it to him…very…very important."

He didn't answer, he just looked at her as if finally understanding that all he did was futile.

"Promise."

"I will. I promise, I'll give it to Gether."

That was it then. All was taken care of. There was nothing left now, she could finally go. So she let the wind bear her away, gently, even as Tariq's grip tightened. It snatched the last echo of the name he cried and then there was nothing but utter silence.

She looked around. The world had gone dim. It was filled with mist and vague blue shapes that moved to and fro without a sound. Her own body felt light, and when she looked down she realized that only a vague, transparent haze made up her shape. There, at her feet lay her broken body, bathed in drying blood. The druid knelt beside it, hands in the ash, his face twisted into an unreadable expression. Her eyes wandered onward, over the nightsaber and on down the gray hills. Something urged her that way, and the slight breeze at her back quickened. And then, the first noise she heard:

_Jalyria…_

She took a step in that direction, and then another. The shapes of her body and the druid began to fade into the mist.

_Jalyria…_

One more step and she began to run. The dim forms of the world rushed past with impossible speed, but she paid them no mind. There was somewhere she had to be, she had to, for it was her time. A cry seemed to chase her from behind but she ignored it and sprinted in the direction of the wind. It gave her feet wings and reassured her.

_This way. This is the way._

Perhaps if she ran far enough there would be blue sky again. Perhaps…thoughts fled her mind. There, before her was a spirit, shrouded in white wrappings that fluttered in the breeze. Its eyes were shadowed by a hood, but Dawnwaker knew it watched her. Other shapes flitted around, but all of its attention was on her now. She stepped closer.

_Jalyria Dawnwaker. Pass this way now, and find rest._

Rest. At last, she would find rest. This was the way. The spirit held out a hand and she knew that the moment she took it all would end. Vaporous wings spread from behind the figure and rose, ready to life them both on a moments notice. She reached for the hand-

"Jal, no! Don't"

The voice jarred her. It was so out of place in this world of shadows, too solid and thick to belong. She snatched her hand back to her side and looked all around, cringing slightly as if something might come out and smother her. But she saw nothing, so again she reached for the spirit's hand.

"Jal, stop! Jalyria! Blast it all, Jal, come back!"

Once again she turned. There may have been something there now, but the wind and the whispering distracted her.

_Come, Jalyria Dawnwaker. This is the path. It is your time._

But now she was hesitant. She search the direction she had come, and then…_there._ A small orb of white floated in the mists, nearly as transparent as herself. It rested in the midst of an even more indistinct shape. As she watched the shaped changed…and suddenly another hand was extended to her.

"Please, Jal, come on. Come on."

_No. Your time is now. You must go._

She turned, back and forth, then back and forth again. The spirit's hand remained steady, its face impassive. The other hand shook as if in urgency.

"I can't stay here forever, we have to go!"

_You have no reason to return. _

"Jal!"

She stopped then, and closed her eyes. The land swirled about her unchanged, and she grit her teeth in frustration. The voice cried her name again and she weighed it against all she knew in this world, the emotionless voice of the spirit, the chill of the wind, the nebulous shapes in the breeze. The voice was strong, it was firm, and it was in pain. Somehow she knew that by returning, that pain would end. That was reason enough. She turned and grasped the proffered hand. It closed around hers, warm and steady, and the chill that surrounded her vanished abruptly. The spirit behind her hissed and suddenly the wind increased.

_No, Jalyria Dawnwaker. Now is the time. Would you be a ghost to wander forever in the night? Come, now._

No, she thought back furiously, and focused in the hand. It tugged her back in the direction she came and she took a hesitant step that way. The wind howled against her and she doubled over and clung to the apparition with everything she had. Another step, and then another. The spirit's voice echoed behind her, chastising her, reasoning with her, berating her. She shut her mind to it and concentrated on her feet. One in front of the other, and again, and again. Before she had flown, but now it was like walking through a bog. The mist surrounded her, pushing on her, but she pushed back resolutely. The shining sphere guided her, the light not ebbing in the slightest, and the strength in the hand gave her the perseverance necessary. Every step felt as if it must be her last, every moment she heard the spirit behind her calling in the wind, but ever onwards she went. How long it took she could never say, it felt like days, months, years. At long last the mist began to dissipate and she found herself again looking down at her body lying prone in the dust, and the druid beside it with his hands aglow. But he was not looking at the body. He was looking straight at her. His lips moved and his voice tore through the fog to fall heavy on her ears…

"_Now._"

There was a scorching pain, a blistering light, and then she gasped, air rushing down her throat like acid and the dull red light of the Burning Steppes searing into her eyes. For a long moment all she could do was breathe, and then her vision cleared as feeling returned to her limbs. Fingertips trembled as she lifted them to feel her stomach, her side, her face. She alive, she was well, there was no trace of any wound on her. Dried blood still caked everything, but under all that…even her side no longer hurt. Tariq had healed everything.

Tariq?

She sat up with a suddenness that left her lightheaded and dizzy, so she remained still for a moment with a hand pressed to her forehead until the spell passed. Her vision was still blurring in and out so she began feeling in the dust where she had last seen him. Fingers touched leather, then skin, his armband and hand. There was no response, so she slowly rolled over to her hands and knees and crawled until her vision was able to put shapes together once more. Tariq, lying flat in the dirt where he had collapsed, hands limp, not reacting to hers, eyes closed, skin cold…

Her breathing quickened as panic attempted to overcome her sense. No, he hadn't, he couldn't. But there lay his body. She shook furiously, but her anger had nowhere to go but the air. There was no enemy to spend her rage on; all the dead dragonkin lay scattered around them. Her back shook with great wracking sobs and she let the tears flow freely, for what else had she to give him now, what other monument would serve? The spirit had been right, there was no reason to return. So now she collapsed beside him and put her arms around the still form and pressed her cheek to his chest and wept in shame and regret, for she could not follow him into the void and bring him back as he had her.


	17. Captured

Dawnwaker lay there for far too long, clutching the night elf's body, until at last reason began to penetrate the fog and she stiffened with a sudden tension as the memory of the dragonkin and the worg returned. There could be, should be, more of those about, and they might stumble upon her at any moment. She needed to be gone from this place, and quickly. There was no time to even dig a grave. The thought repelled her and left a bad taste in her mouth, and instead of sitting up and looking around as she had intended to she pressed her cheek further into the pool of blood that was the druid's chest and shut her eyes tight. _No one to remember, no one to mourn, no flowers for the grave…_ These were what she had so recently feared and now she would give them to him, even as she had given her own death. Anger began to replace tears as the full realization of what had happened sunk in and she grit her teeth in fury. Not just an unmarked grave, but an end to all worlds. No chance to go home. Oblivion. And he had taken all that freely from her to himself. _…never certain if I can absolutely count on you when the worst comes… _Fingers contracted as she remembered her words, wishing fervently that she had never said them. When had he become her friend? She felt as she might have if Gether or Jeneira were the one lying here dead, not the Alliance druid. But still reason attempted to pierce the fog of grief and rage and eventually she opened her eyes, blinking to clear away the remnants of tears as she assessed the situation.

She saw nothing but ash and torn armor. No scent on the wind, no battle cries. The only sounds were her nightsaber, whining plaintively, and a low, almost inaudible beat, faint and unsteady. Slowly she lifted her head, looking all around as she tried to place the noise, but the moment her ear left the druid's breastplate the beating stopped. A reckless thought seized her mind and she turned slowly to look at the cold body, then pressed her ear to his chest. The beating resumed, barely audible, but definitely there. Somewhere beneath all this blood and gore, a heart had managed to survive, and it was beating. It was beating!

Her hands moved frantically then, unbuckling armor and wiping blood aside, feeling desperately for throat and wrist, finding the feeble pulse. A hand at his mouth barely felt the warmth of breath, but it was there too. When asked later to recount her actions, she could barely remember. There was only a blur of ripping fabric as she tore apart one of the bedrolls for bandages, a wordless desperation that colored every movement. Somehow she got him up onto the nightsaber and took the reins, tugging the poor mount along. As they rushed for the road she began to notice things slowly. Not only were all of her wounds gone, but she felt as if she were just beginning a journey after good weeks of exercise and food and rest in the city. Every step was light, every motion easy. Muscles that had so recently been on the verge of collapse now surged with energy, begging to be used. It was as if every moment of the journey had been stripped from her and she was beginning anew. She also noticed that she had left her knife back in the dust among the bodies of the dragonkin. It was too late to go back for it now.

Night was thick by the time they reached the road. The mount crouched to let her drag Tariq from its saddle, then collapsed to begin licking its own wounds. She carefully maneuvered the night elf into the remaining bedroll, then shook the waterskin in an attempt to gauge how much was left. It sloshed discouragingly. Well, the way she felt now she could go without for a bit. Turning a few drops out onto an unused bandage she wiped as much of the blood from his face as she could. _Wake up, come on._ She was a poor one to look to for healing. Once she had stopped the blood flowing all she could think of was to get some water in him. _Come on, wake, wake._ It seemed she waited there forever. At last the feeble breaths became gasps and his eyes opened ever so slightly. He tried to speak but she quickly stopped him, holding the waterskin to his mouth.

"Drink."

He managed a few sips before his eyes rolled back beneath his eyelids and he slipped into unconsciousness. Dawnwaker's jaw worked as she crouched there, never feeling more helpless. She surged to her feet and looked all around into the blackness, attempting to keep her own breathing under control. Blast it all! He needed help, another healer's help, but the closest healer was traveling in a caravan steadily away from them. Well, she would catch it, or she would run all the way to on the road were they? There were no landmarks here but the mountains, invisible in the darkness. If she was guessing right they were still two days from the Redridge Mountains proper, and it was another three or four after that to Lakeshire. Even if they had enough water, could he last that long? The nightsaber let out a huff from across the fire and she glanced sharply at it. While its coat was still in terrible shape, the muscles underneath had begun to rebuild themselves on the steady diet of worg and the reasonable pace. At their prime and burdened lightly she and the mount could cut that time in half. But as things stood now, such a pace would probably kill the nightsaber. The factors seemed endless, the situation hopeless. Dawnwaker put it all out of her mind and settled down resolutely to keep watch. If she was going to push the mount she could at least give it one night's rest.

The next morning sealed her decision. Tariq's skin had gone deathly gray, and his breathing was so faint that if she had not been able to feel his pulse, she would have thought he had gone in the night. Not bothering to stamp out the fire, she began unclasping the nightsaber's pack harness, then, on a whim, she removed its saddle as well, leaving only the saddle cloth. The gear was heavy, and hopefully its absence would make a difference. She ate the last of the bread, gave the rest of the dried worg to the mount, and secured the waterskin to her belt. Everything else she left in the ashes, though it was very hard to leave the maps behind. Still, they were not of these regions, and she could get more afterward, but the parting was no less painful for that. The nightsaber crouched and she hauled the druid over its back as gently as she could, then hopped lightly on in front of him and brought his arms around underneath hers and secured his wrists with more of the shredded bedroll. His weight was heavy on her back, but she could not ride behind him; he was too large for her to adequately control the reins of the nightsaber, much less see around. A word to the nightsaber and it stood, and she gave a few experimental shifts to make certain that the druid would not fall off. The knots held, and as long as she didn't sit up too straight, it would work. She touched her heels to the nightsaber's ribs and they were off.

There were no more camps on this journey. She dozed lightly when she thought she could, but for the most part she stayed alert to watch for enemies and to urge the mount on. There would be no more fighting if she could help it; right now speed was the only possible course of action. The nightsaber seemed to sense this as well, and it loped along without faltering. She kept it at a steady pace, saving any strength it had for a sprint in case they should be ambushed. But this was no dash, this was an endurance race. Ever she hoped to see the caravan, but no dust arose from the road ahead.

* * *

They reached Lakeshire on morning of the fourth day, having ridden through the night. The moment she saw the road broaden and the buildings rising from the base of the red cliffs against the water she let out the loudest shout she could with her parched throat. The mount stumbled and she steadied herself and Tariq as best she could, ignoring the insistent voice that told her it was a corpse she bore by now, and nothing living. He had not woken for two nights, and the water had been gone before that. Ah, there men had heard her voice and were coming up the road. She blinked, unsure in the harsh sunlight, still feeling the sting of the morning after having been under the shroud of Blackrock's lands for so long. They were yelling, waving objects that shone and glinted, and then one had the reins of the mount and they were before the buildings, surrounded by more and more people. The mount collapsed then, and did not move; with an effort she freed the druid's wrists and began to dismount. Rough hands grabbed her and tore her away from him immediately and she fought them mindlessly. They could not take her away, not until her task was finished. A big man with blazing eyes, _endhi_ eyes, shoved his way through the crowd to Tariq, then looked to her. She took her chance with one last struggle.

"Help him!"

Then something crashed into the back of her head and the world vanished.

* * *

The feeling Dawnwaker had as she awoke was vaguely familiar, and eventually she recognized it as the after-effects of a blow to the head. Lifting a hand she found a large lump at the base of her skull and winced as she probed it. Bruised, yes, but no blood. Apparently the intention had simply been to knock her out, not to kill her. With that thought everything came rushing back and she shoved herself off the ground into a sitting position, only to stop and hold her head again. Dirt floor, bars all around, framework for a door, and there, on the other side, the man she had seen earlier, the _endhi_. His face was friendly, but watchful, and the way he sat with his hands on a sword convinced her that he would not simply stand aside and allow her to leave. His voice was friendly too, but also contained the wariness so evident in his posture.

"Easy now. Drink something and get your bearings. Then we'll talk."

She looked around again, more carefully this time. There at her feet was a large bucket of water, cool and clear. She was tempted to inhale it all at once, but mindful of a stomach that had been deprived for far too long, she only took a few careful gulps. In a little bit she would have more, but for now she wanted to talk to her guard, for surely he was such. He seemed willing enough to share some information.

"You're in Lakeshire. Came tearin' into town like the Lich King hisself was after you."

She swallowed, testing her dry throat to see if the water had done any good. It had, but her voice was still raspy.

"The druid, is he-"

"Healer's got him right now. Don' know if he'll pull through. Looked pretty bad to me. But I ain't no healer, so who'm I to say?" He cocked his head. "Where you come from anyhow? Ain't nothin' northwards 'til you get to Loch Modan, an' that's Alliance lands still."

She looked at him warily, easily aware of the slight change in tone as he went from informative to interrogation. Still he was attempting to sound casual, but it was probably best she keep her mouth shut for the time being. Instead of answering she asked him a question in turn.

"Do they know you're _endhi_?"

He didn't blink. "An' who's _they_?"

"The rest here, in Lakeshire."

"Ah." He shook his head with a rueful grin. "You know, then, how things are in Stormwind?"

"I've heard stories."

"Then you know my answer already. Nah, they don' know what I am. No reason for 'em to, way out here. I keep my peace an' they keep theirs."

"Are you the only one then?"

"In Lakeshire? Nah, there's a few more. But it can be tricky out here, in the mountains. Most seem to like Stormwind well enough, 'long as they keep their heads down."

Abruptly he got to his feet. "But you'll be wanting some lunch now I think. Sit tight, I'll be back."

She waited until he had disappeared up the stairs at the far side of the room, then quickly went to the door of the small cell and tested it. Hard and firm, no rust on the iron, no lock on the inside and she couldn't reach far enough through the bars to pick it even if she'd had something to pick it with. The rest of the cell didn't look promising either. Apparently it was underground, and she didn't have time for digging. She took a few more gulps of the water and tested herself a little. The last three days had been rough, but there was still energy in her yet. Perhaps she could rush the guard when he came back with her food. But to what end? There would surely be more outside and she couldn't evade all of them. Sitting back down in the dirt she frowned and scratched at her arm where an orc's arrow had gotten through her armor two days ago. The rush through the northward mountains hadn't been easy, but they had made it here alive. Well, she had. Tariq, maybe. That's when she noticed the lightness, and the fact that her armor was gone, leaving her with only her shirt, leggings, boots, and belt. That was decent of them at least, to leave the boots. Then, in a moment of panic her hand went to her throat, and just as quickly she relaxed. Sylvanas' amulet was gone, but the Alliance didn't have it, Tariq did. They would think it belonged to him, and not question it. Would he give it up when he woke? She wasn't sure. All the more reason for her to get out. Footsteps echoed down the stairwell and the man reappeared with a sack just small enough to fit through the bars of the cell. He tossed it with perfect aim and it landed at her feet with a thunk. Inside was a small hunk of pale cheese, Stormwind Brie, she guessed, and a bit of bread. She began to pick at both, eating sparingly, as the guard settled back down in his chair. But even as he sprawled in the seat his voice became harder and she could tell he was through with the casual game and ready for some real answers. Let him yell, she thought grimly. He has no idea who he's got in here.

"Now, what's your business in Lakeshire?"

She ignored him, biting into the cheese and trying not to wince at the taste.

"How'd you come across the druid?"

The bread was hard, but it was much better than the cheese.

"Where're you headed, this far south?"

Actually the bread and the cheese didn't taste half so bad together as they did apart. She arranged herself a bite size sandwich and had just popped it in her mouth when there was a scraping sound from the chair and she looked up to see that the man had moved back several paces, stuck his sword in the dirt floor, and was now leaning right up against her cell, giving her a half-hearted glare. For the first time she felt a twinge of sympathy for him, he was clearly the sort who would prefer to be farming or fishing, rather than guarding a hostile Horde prisoner.

"You volunteered for this, didn't you? Because you're _endhi_ and you thought you might be able to get some answers out of me that the others couldn't."

He shrugged. "It was worth a shot."

"Then accept that you're wasting your time and get someone else in here who's not afraid of a little blood."

The jab was intended to make him angry, but he remained placid. A mature one, then, not easily ruffled. He was frowning, though, and when he spoke next he spoke softly.

"You need to understand your situation here, Dawnwaker. The Marshal's pretty sure he knows who you are, but not what you're doing here, and that's making him antsy. There's talk of sending you off to Stormwind."

Fear, small and tenacious, began to rise in her. "Why do you think I'm someone named Dawnwaker?"

He narrowed his eyes. "First, your tabard. Matches the ones all them other rogues was wearin' when that army of Horde came through here yesterday. It was pretty beat up but the insignia was still clear. An' second, the voucher that bunch gave the Marshal listed "Captain Jalyria Dawnwaker" as the officer in charge, but she was nowhere to be found in the whole mess. An' that druid, he was mutterin' stuff when the healer got to work on him. Mentioned that name."

There was a chill now, creeping up her fingertips. "So what, exactly, does the marshal think?"

"He's sure you're up to no good, that's what he thinks, but ever'one's confused by the situation. Why'd you come riding in here like that in the first place?"

"For the druid. He was dying." There was no reason to keep silent about that.

"Marshal'll never believe it. I get it, I think, he's an _endhi_ too, an' maybe you knew him before all this so faction don't matter, but the Marshal, he can't figure why a Horde rogue would want to help an Alliance druid. So he thinks your up to something, an' he wants you off his hands."

"So..."

"So they're sending you to Stormwind." He shook his head. "It's bad business this, but I can't do nothing about it. Not without tipping my hand."

Meaning he couldn't stand aside and let her go. Well, that made sense. She would do the same in his position. Letting anyone of the opposite faction loose in your town, _endhi_ or not, was just a bad idea. But perhaps he could help another way.

"Then just tell me anything you know. Anything at all that may help me."

He hesitated, glancing back up the stairs. She lowered her voice further.

"Advantages of this world, no security cameras."

He cracked a grin at that, then quickly hid it. "Why would I want to help you at all?"

"Because I'm working for the _endhi_, all of them, to find a way home."

"Well now that's just foolishness." He frowned, stroking his short beard for a moment. "I'll tell you what I know. But then you're on your own."

She nodded. It was all she had expected.

"As I said, the Marshal's suspicious. He thinks you stole that big black nightsaber from the druid, to sneak in here or something. His plan is to send you off to the city by gryphon with everything you had on you, though admittedly that's not much."

"The armor's not mine," she broke in quickly. "The druid had it, I stole it from him." The look the man gave her was warranted: the armor had been custom made for her and fit perfectly, and was obviously not of night elf make. She put a little more emphasis in her voice and repeated, "I stole it. It belongs to him."

Then, the guard understood and gave her a knowing nod. "It belongs to the druid. Got it." He looked around at the cell. "I'm sorry I can't help you more, but that's the world we live in right now."

"You can let the druid know what's happened to me, when he wakes up." _If he wakes up_. The man nodded and she relaxed, just a little. Tariq could carry word of her capture to Gether, who would know what to do. She tucked the last bit of bread in her mouth and sat back against the wall as the guard retrieved his sword and settled back into his chair.

"Any idea how long it'll be?"

"Nah. They'll keep arguin' up there for who knows how long, but in the end I believe the Marshal'll have his way."

It was a little over two hours later when they finally came for her. She was escorted up and out into the sunlight by no less than eight men, all of whom left their weapons with fellows who paralleled their course further out. Her _endhi_ guard and a man built like a lumberjack kept a firm hold on both arms, and there was no lack of watchfulness. Apparently they _did_ have an good idea of who they had captured. There was no hope for escape here, and nothing to do but keep her head high and look straight ahead, ignoring the increasing number of stares from the residents of the town. One group did not stare, they were busy attempting to load something large and black onto a wagon. Then the light caught a fang and her throat caught. She recovered quickly enough to ask what that was, and the _endhi_ guard confirmed her fear.

"Oh they're takin' that body out to be rid o' it somewhere. No room for it here in the cemetery. Stablehand said it was dead 'fore you were even off it."

It was with supreme effort she kept still, simply nodding her understanding and moving on. The marshal thought that the mount was Tariq's and that was the way it ought to stay. Tears pooled behind her eyes but she shoved them down furiously and trod steadily on with her escort past the last building and onto the bridge. The soldier's hobnail boots rang on the finished stone and thudded on the incomplete parts still made of wood. She swallowed the lump in her throat and concentrated on glaring at everyone who dared to look her way. This was it then. She had killed her precious nightsaber in what may have been a futile attempt to save Tariq's life, and she was being taken away a prisoner to the most securely guarded and hostile Alliance city of all.

_Oh Gether, I hope things are better for you than they are for me._

They reached the gryphons and she was lifted into a saddle. Any hope of escape in the sky was dashed when they cuffed her wrists and chained them behind her, then lashed her legs to the harness. Four of the soldiers also mounted, one accepting a roll of parchment from the marshal, and then they were off. The ground fell away swiftly, and the wind nearly drowned out the point rider's order to keep flying through the night. Then it only agony, such that she began to wish for their arrival in the city rather than dread it. All that stood between her and the freezing wind was a thin linen shirt, no armor, no cloak. It was winter, and while here in the southern regions that did not mean snow, it did mean temperatures dropped. She had gotten used to the heat of the volcanic lands north and now the biting headwind was a shock. Her arms and legs soon began to ache, as her captors had not taken circulation into consideration when they tied her down. She was tempted to feel sorry for herself, but a small voice echoed in her head that this was no less than she deserved for the torture she had so willingly handed out in the name of the Horde. Tears sprang to her eyes unheeded then, as she finally admitted her darkest part to herself and lamented that it had emerged so easily. No, she had not been a violent person in her other life, but was that all that was needed to trigger her, a world in which such violence was not frowned upon, but instead encouraged and even lauded by some? Had it really changed her that much, or had she always been this way? She could have been a peaceful envoy, but instead she had chosen the martial route and gathered others near who felt the same. They were a deadly force, the rogues of Shadowshield, people who would never before have thought to kill, or even wound. Were they all like this, the _endhi_? Time bombs that only needed the right atmosphere, the right set of rules to explode into destruction. _No_, she thought, _no, Tariq is not that way._ He was the exception in all her travels, for even when he slew enemies in defense she could see afterward that he shook. With adrenaline she had thought at the time, but now she could see it was with…what? Shame? Or frustration? Sorrow? If anyone deserved to go home it was him, and he had nearly sacrificed his life to save the killer who's time for death had come and gone.

Tears streamed faster in the wind and she kept her head down, glad that the wind gave an excuse for watery eyes. The images flashed in her mind's eye, each one bringing more shame with it: her friends, dying in Naxxramas while she cowered in the shadows, the _endhi_ night elf she had killed in the Hinterlands simply because he was trying to kill her, because she was Horde and he was Alliance. More recently the general, Hunter, hanging in his chains as she berated him for motives she had no knowledge of…and Tariq, lying in the dirt of the Arathi Highlands while she beat him for her own anger, hastily justified.

There were many times, like this, when she thought she was the same monster she fought day in and day out. Destruction.

Her nightsaber! That faithful mount, always by her side, fighting with a tenacity and a loyalty that was undeserved. Never would she find another like it. She had not given it a name in order to avoid attachment, it was a battle mount after all, but now she wished she had. For she had grown attached despite her efforts and now there was nothing to remember the beast by. Shoulders threatened to shake with sobs and she steeled them, refusing to give it. Her dear, dear mount! Giving its all, right to the end. It deserved a ceremony, not that cart they hauled it off in, to dump it in some ravine where the vultures could have the corpse. She choked, then, and did not notice the look one of the soldiers gave her from his distant vantage point.

Now the sun was going down, and they descended to skim the treetops to stay below the gathering storm clouds. There would be no blue sky welcome for her here. Twice the gryphons touched down for food and water, but she was not given anything or released from her bonds, and finally, well after dark, they reached Stormwind. She looked in vain for an escape route past the stone walls, the hundreds of guards, the water and the bridge. All she saw was darkness broken by the occasional flickering of torchlight that moved in steady patrols over the vast stone edifice. Then they landed, the ropes were undone while the chains were left in place, and she was dragged off the gryphon only to find that her legs would not support her. Her captors cared not one bit and probably would have dragged her straight to the keep for interrogation had a message not come to stash her somewhere until morning, when she could be questioned at the nobility's leisure. Consequently she was taken to a small cell in what seemed to be a precinct headquarters and placed under heavy guard. All of this barely registered, and despite her empty stomach and dry throat she fell asleep quickly, weary from the journey and the guilty beat in her chest.


	18. Broken

The hall of Stormwind Keep reminded her very much of her cell, for despite the vaulted ceiling and the brightly colored banners that hung from it, the features that stood out to her the most were the massive stone walls and the watchful guards. The stones here were cut more finely than those elsewhere in the city, but this only made their edges seem sharper and more unforgiving. Even the sunlight that streamed in from strategically placed vents was pale and sickly. This was partially due to the weather outside, but she was sure that the stone did not let much through even on sunny days. Everything she had known about castles before was confirmed, and she felt no hesitation on deciding that she would much rather have her secure passageways in Undercity, deep and warmed by the earth. Ah, but if this castle was dank, what of the dungeons below? She frowned and continued to look about her. Door after door they passed, but the guards led her straight forward underneath banner after banner depicting the crests of the city's nobility, punctuated every now and then by the banner of Stormwind itself. Her opinion of the place continued to sink; when they finally emerged from the great hall into the throne room, Dawnwaker was thoroughly disgusted. Certainly she was no warrior tactician like Raxfician of Bladebite or Ganis of Aurblaze, but even she could see the enormous flaw here. In Undercity the route to Sylvanas' keep was small and winding, and many twists and turns were needed to even get down to the level of the passageway's entrance. This was most certainly what she had to thank for delaying General Hunter's guild on their quest to destroy the banshee queen, for they had swept the city's resistance aside easily. But here, in Stormwind, they obviously relied far too much on the main gates, for once past those an army needed only to jump one small canal and breach the doors of the castle to be presented with a beautifully wide, unerring road straight to the heart of this paltry kingdom. Foolishness, and foolishness to let her see it.

She expected them to stop in the throne room, but the large throne was empty and only a few minor nobles were about, going here and there on their business. Instead she was shoved roughly in the direction of a door, and with wide eyes she caught a glimpse of the war room with its many maps, and then they were through another door, down a small passage, and through a small entrance into a room that was far more protected than the throne room above. She was tempted to roll her eyes, but she refrained after seeing the look on the three faces that stared at her. Her guards left her alone before them, retreating a few paces to take up positions beside the door and in the corners of the small space. She stood as tall as her aching legs would allow, keeping still despite the insistent urge to pull at the cuffs on her wrists. The three looked her up and down, and she eyed them in turn. The man in the center was solidly built, and obviously still deadly despite his age, betrayed by the gray flecks in his beard. The armor he wore was of exceptional quality, and though it was just as worn as his face it still shone. A paladin, then. On his right was a woman with light brown hair and a stern expression, her arms crossed over an elaborately embroidered bodice and fingers twitching as if they would grasp anything to avoid being empty. She was obviously a magic user, most likely a mage. A warlock would have gone for darker colors than the bright Stormwind blue and gold she wore. And the man on the other side…

His eyes flashed at her, bright, but empty and haunted with the unmistakable sign seared into them. She barely took in armor suitable to a warrior as all thoughts cleared her mind to make space for the startling realization that he was an _endhi_, and underneath his calm facade there was death brewing, and terror. _Rather like me_, she thought, then brought her attention back as the paladin in the middle spoke, though not to her.

"She does appear to match the description from Refuge Pointe."

The warrior grunted and gestured with some navy blue fabric bunched in his hand. "I should think _this_ would be confirmation enough." He threw at her feet and she recognized her much mangled tabard, the insignia of the shield and dagger somehow still visible through all the dried blood. If only she had thought to be rid of it the moment she had fallen from the Thandol Span, but a reason such as this had never occurred to her. What if's swirled through her mind and she let them distract her. They lent her face a distance that she would not have been able to achieve otherwise, and her expression remained a blank stare even as the folds of the fabric settled to the floor. Let them question her, let them resort to torture. She would be far away, and they would not hurt her unless they found a way to bring her back, and even if they would force words involuntarily from her lips, all they would get was nonsense. Now she thought of the desert she had traveled on the back of a ravasaur, with its endless shifting sands falling away under the steady strides of the beast and the vast blue sky above. It was easy to get lost in such a memory.

The mage stepped forward a little and eyed her more closely, then frowned. "What were you doing, traveling behind the main Horde force into Lakeshire? What mission could you possibly have that would require such?"

Desert sand made for a poor grave, but she wouldn't have buried Tariq there. No, his bones would have mingled with ash in a land where no wind blew, where they could lie silent. But he deserved trees. The woman here would not understand that answer, and if she gave it to her they would press on in hope of more. She thought of the desert and remained silent. Ah, but it was easier to suppress words than laughter, for other than Tariq what reason would she have? It would have been the perfect way to gain entrance to Stormwind, had she wished to. That was really the only other reason available. These three appeared to not have thought of it, though, or she would not be here in the Keep. Now she struggled to maintain the expressionless stare. Perhaps she could salvage her capture in some way.

When she remained silent the _endhi_ man answered the mage, his voice harsh and full of venom. "Whatever her reasons for going to Lakeshire, they mean little now. What is important here is that we have captured the commander of the Horde forces." He stepped forward and took her jaw in one large hand, turning her face to and fro. "And now we can know all we need to. It'll be a sweep." She saw herself, then, mirrored in her interrogator's eyes, and she remembered Hunter's face as she hit him, and the bewildered look in his eyes as he asked her, _endhi?_ She remembered Tariq's stories of life here, of the slaughter. How then, did an _endhi_ hold a position so high that he would interrogate prisoners that Varian himself should be interested in? She let him twist her face towards his and stared blankly into his eyes for a moment more, then smiled, speaking clearly, but in Orcish.

"Do they know what you are? I can see you."

He frowned, not understanding. She straightened up, pulling herself from his grip and using her height to look at him on a level and repeated her question, this time in Gutterspeak. When that also failed she switched to Thalassian. At that the mage stepped closer and she repeated herself, then watched as the woman's face creased in concentration.

"That was Thalassian she spoke just then." She turned to the _endhi_. "I think she asked if you knew who you were. Or if we did." She frowned, but the man's face grew livid, hidden from the others as he stood facing Dawnwaker. The paladin's comment was mild in contrast.

"I thought this Captain Dawnwaker spoke Common."

"That's what the report said," the mage agreed. "But you know how reliable the intelligence is from Lordaeron these days."

"She does speak common," the warrior hissed, as she met his glare with a slight taunt in her eyes. Then, with a grin, she spoke again. The mage's forehead creased as she struggled to translate.

"She asked if she should tell us, or if you would." Both were now looking curiously at the warrior and she had evidently found his breaking point. The backhand was swift, and the gauntlets were painful across her face. With her hands bound behind her she was off balance, and blow knocked her to the stone floor. Her head hit with a crack such that she barely heard the raised voices of the humans above her. They quieted quickly though, and she lay still, thinking to begin capitalizing on opportunities such as this. She had knowledge now, small though it was, and it might just save her. Or the _endhi_ warrior would kill her to keep her quiet.

A toe nudged her and the woman's voice came again, exasperated. "Look what you've done now, Tereth."

Then the paladin's voice, still mild. "She'll come to quick enough. But questioning her won't lend us many answers if she can't speak Common. Or you keep hitting her that hard."

Tereth didn't answer either of them, but she heard a rustle of fabric as he scooped up her tabard. The woman spoke again.

"I'll send word into the city for a translator. I'm sure there's some out there who speak Thalassian more fluently than myself."

"No need." The warrior's voice was cold. "If she cannot speak Common, then she is not Dawnwaker, and therefore is of no use to us. Best we just execute her and be done with it."

"Oh?" The woman's voice. "And what has she done to deserve execution?"

"She's been deep into Stormwind. Who knows what she's seen. We can't let her go, and the dungeons are full."

"Perhaps the Stockade-"

"_No._ She must die, and soon. I'll see to it."

"Now Tereth." The calm voice, the paladin. "She may have useful information yet. Your plan is in motion, yes? All going smoothly?"

"The last battalions left this morning," Tereth muttered. "The numbers are sufficient to overcome the entire Horde army that's been tromping through Alliance lands. I see no problem, unless they are _warned_." Here he kicked her, but she remained carefully inert.

"Easy, man, she'll keep. What of the reports from Lakeshire?"

The warrior's voice dropped to a growl. "That the Alliance hostages appeared friendly with their captors and walked unfettered? If our forces find traitors among them they will suffer the same fate as those Horde dogs."

Silence for a moment, then the paladin spoke once more. "I believe if this campaign succeeds, the King will be most pleased with you upon his return. Just to think, the forces of the Undercity utterly destroyed, and Lordaeron ours once more."

The mage sighed. "A lovely thought, Fardale, but yet to be seen."

"Peace, Devay," said the paladin, "you know I often speak in wishes within these walls. But back to the business at hand. This blood elf should be questioned when she wakes. Tereth, shall it be you or I?"

"I'll handle her. You go on, there's still work to be done."

There was a rustle as the mage gathered her robes. "I'll send for a translator."

"Good."

"Mind you be quick now, Tereth," the paladin rumbled. "You wished to lead the army in victory, did you not?"

The warrior grunted and there was a shuffling sound as the two departed, then a soft order and the louder sound of hobnailed boots as the guards left the room as well. Then a door was shut, followed by the heavy boom of a bolt driven home and she was left alone in the room with one other person who breathed heavily as if he might somehow damage the very air to satisfy his anger. A few moments passed in which he paced back and forth, then there was the sound of a chair scraping over the stone floor. She lay still, wondering just how long she ought to keep up this act. She would think of the desert and traveling over seas of sand and distract herself from what she had heard until such a time as she could do something about it. For some it may have seemed like an eternity to wait, but she let her mind wander and the time seemed to pass quickly. Occasionally she would hear the creak of the chair as the man adjusted in his seat, but otherwise there was nothing. As time grew on she began to feel more and more uneasy, for he was demonstrating patience she had not expected. She was fully prepared to be kicked in the ribs at any moment, but the air remained still. At last the grains of sand in the desert gave way to the sea, and she began to wake, carefully and slowly. Finally her eyes burst open and she would have sat up, but for the awkward position she had fallen in. All of her limbs were stiff now, and her arms worst of all, pinned beneath her. She glanced up at the warrior, still planted solidly in the chair, arms crossed, and tried another cocky smile out to see if he would react. Ah, there was the anger now, burning in his eyes. She had put him in danger, and he was not happy about it.

"So they _don't_ know," she said in Orcish. She could see him having an orc alt, far back and before. But instead of an answer, all she got was a blank stare.

"I only speak Common, but if you wish to taunt me in gibberish, feel free, you'll get no result."

That surprised her. No Horde alts at all? It might explain why he was so fanatically loyal to the Alliance, but not why he would want to destroy an entire group of _endhi_. He didn't seem to be acting on faulty information the way General Hunter had been, no, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and doing it as if he weren't _endhi_ at all. The questions were too burning, so she dropped the act at last and spoke in common.

"Do you feel no empathy at all for your fellow _endhi_?"

"My fellow what?"

"Oh don't tell me you haven't heard the word before. Are you here in Stormwind so deaf to the world around you?"

He regarded for a moment, and his gaze made her want to shiver. She steeled herself and watched him, unblinking.

"I think you mean the players, perhaps. And I feel no empathy for them because they are a sad lot of stupid children who still think they play pretend." He stood. "And now, Jalyria Dawnwaker, for I am quite certain that's who you are, you will tell me the exact number and makeup of your little army."

Desert sand. She kept quiet, then grunted as his boot connected with her stomach.

"Answer me!"

"I should think," she said between gasps, "that your friends in all those Alliance villages we passed would be able to get you that information."

He stared at her a moment more, then almost casually walked back to his chair and began removing his gauntlets.

"You will tell me all I wish to know, Dawnwaker, or you will regret the rest of your short life." Setting the armor aside he slid open the drawer of the small desk behind the chair and removed a small, slender knife. She watched, motionless, until he reached for her again and she snatched her head back out of his reach. It was a futile effort, for there was nowhere she could go, and he caught her jaw in an pinching grip as before and turned her face so as to better see the wounds he had left. "You're quite pretty you know. All you filthy blood elves are." He spun the knife in his hand, slowly, then reached out and cut her, opening up a shallow gash from one side of her forehead to another. Blood trickled down and she blinked furiously to keep it out of her eyes.

"Now will you tell me what I wish to know?"

Sand. Endless rolling dunes. She remained silent.

It seemed he had endless patience. Every cut he made deeper until her entire face was a mask of red and the crosshatch marks extended down her neck to her shoulders. All the while she remained silent. At last he stopped asking questions and stepped back to admire his work, wiping his bloody hands on a cloth and replacing the ring he had removed. She watched in a daze, her mind going fuzzy from the loss of so much blood, but latching onto the gem in the setting, an amber stone, the color of the sunset on the sand sea. Harder and harder her mind grasped, holding onto the image like an anchor to keep her mind sane and safe in the same moment. She was stronger than he thought, much stronger, and not just through discipline. She deserved all of this, and that knowledge let her suffer in silence, for she had never protested punishment that was due. But the warrior was not finished yet. Another barrage of questions came, but this time her silence did not earn her the knife.

"So loss of beauty won't sway you. I took you for a thinking person, but perhaps the physical will have to do." And he reached out and snapped her arm like a twig.

This was not deserved. Bones were not easy to heal, and to maim a person in this world was to serve their death penalty. That was the moment in which she realized she was most certainly dead, he would not let her live knowing what she knew. Anger stirred then, that Tariq's sacrifice should have been in vain, but there was nothing to vent it on. Another bone broke, in her leg this time. She grasped desperately at the desert then, but the sand slid through her fingers and her patience ended. She screamed, wordlessly. The man asked another question and she screamed again, and again. Bone after bone snapped. He must be an expert at torture, she realized, to cause such pain but not quite enough to kill her. Of course he meant to in the end. All the fingers in her right hand went, then, and she sobbed, tears stinging the cuts on her face. All that kept her afloat now was the anger, anger for Tariq, anger at her helplessness, anger at what she had heard earlier and now had no way of relaying to her people. They were walking, no, running, straight for a trap. The despair she had given into in the ash of the Burning Steppes was now nowhere to be found, for they had only small need of her then, but now she held all of their lives in her broken hands. He crushed her feet then, one at a time, and she wept through gritted teeth. There was no escaping this. She could not walk, she could not hold a dagger, she could not end this man's life. When he paused his questioning for a brief moment, she managed to choke out a single word.

"Why?"

He grabbed her hair and pulled her up to face him. "I was in Alterac Valley," he bit out, and threw her back on the ground. Black spots danced in her vision as he reached for the knife again and examined it flippantly. "You must understand, opportunities for vengeance have been few until now. But they are coming much more swiftly. Now, teeth first, or eyes? I think eyes."

There was a knock at the door.

"Commander Tereth?"

The _endhi_ stood still for a moment, then turned abruptly to the door and flung it open. "_What?_"

The guard stood outside, his expression hidden beneath his helm. "Your gryphon is ready, sir. The flight master says if you must leave now if you wish to reach the army before nightfall."

Tereth's jaw worked and he let out a curse. "Fine. Have someone clean up in here, and dump _that_," he pointed at her, "out in the ocean somewhere." The guard hesitated, then nodded stiffly and turned to relay the orders. "Wait." The warrior tapped the flat of the blade against his palm, turning to regard her once her. "Shut her in the Stockade instead. Those prisoners deserve a little fun now and again."

It was the final nail in the coffin. Nearly every city in Azeroth had a prison, but only Stormwind's Stockade had been an instance before. Thrown in without armor or weapons, she might have somehow miraculously managed through sheer trickery, but as she was now… Hopefully it would be quick, as death in this room would not have been. The black spots continued as she was lifted and born out of the Keep, though somehow her memory caught details as it had the ring, stacks of counters here, a tear in a banner there. Then she slumped into oblivion and did not know when they removed the unnecessary cuffs, or when the enormous doors of the Stockade fell shut. Now she no longer had the strength for anger, and instead of a desert all she saw was a long tunnel, closing in on her ever so slowly. Sorrow followed from loyalty as the figures swam before her eyes, Tariq, pointlessly dead, and Gether, marching steadily into the jaws of a dark portal from which he and the rest would never return. Then they all abandoned her, rushing apart to make way for the other figure coming at her, a shadow, looming large and charging fast, carrying death. And though she should not have been able to, she laughed for the irony of it all, that when she had accepted it, it was taken from her, and now that she had reason to flee, it came for her, unerringly, thudding on stone.

_Come for me, old friend, and swallow me whole. We'll see what a thorn in your throat I can be._


	19. Cursed

It seemed like a long time before she felt anything again. But death must have found her distasteful and spit her back up, for when her eyes fluttered open she was lying where the guards had thrown her at the base of the stairs that led up to the solidly barred door. And in the other direction…a girl sat watching her. She was probably thirteen or fourteen years old; age was difficult to judge when armor was involved. The sight of the armor on so small a person was disturbing, as was the short knife at her belt. There was no need to look for her eyes to tell that this girl was _endhi_. No other kid her age would be dressed as such, and down here in the Stockade! But the girl seemed at ease here, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as her eyes flicked from the passageway to Dawnwaker and back again. Then she did a double take and jumped to her feet.

"Anna! She's awake!"

There was a sudden flurry down the corridor and a figure detached itself from the wall and ran forward. No armor here, only white robes that were slightly frayed and bore the marks of a priestess. The woman who wore them was not old enough for gray hair yet, but faint lines marked her face and grew deeper as she looked down at the blood elf, her face a combination of relief and anxiety. She grabbed Dawnwaker's shoulder and the rogue hissed in pain, but the priestess seemed not to notice and spoke urgently.

"Can you walk?"

Dawnwaker looked up at her incredulously. In her experience a priestess in robes such as these was a healer, but healer or not, anyone should have been able to see the state of her limbs. It was not as if her damaged boots could hide her crushed feet. But the woman only glanced back down the tunnel and then met her eyes steadily and repeated the question.

"No, I cannot walk!" Dawnwaker yelled, louder than she had intended to. If the humans of Stormwind were all this thick then it was no wonder they had not yet caught up with the rest of the _endhi_ of Azeroth. The woman gestured for her to be quiet and glanced over her shoulder again, but she continued, her voice rising in anger. "To ask me to walk after _this_, when everything, all use of my skill has been taken from me, when I have been rendered useless to all I hold dear, when I am _dying_…who are you? Speak if you would help me, but if all you wish is to mock my agony then leave me in peace and let death take its own! I am _broken_, can you not see? He broke every bone in my body! I cannot lift a finger, much less _walk!"_

The woman removed her hand carefully and watched her face steadily as Dawnwaker spit the bitter words out. Better if the warrior had killed her immediately, better dead than to live like this. Oh but he had been interrupted before he could take her tongue. She could still possibly get a warning out to her people of Stormwind's betrayal and the imminent attack, but only if these people down here got their act together. To ask her to walk…she could feel tears gathering behind her eyes and she sealed them away quickly. There would be time to mourn for herself later; now was not the time to show weakness, but the time to take charge. She took a deep breath to steady herself against the pain for more words, but the priestess spoke first, in a much gentler voice than before.

"You are not injured, blood elf, save for this." She brushed her fingers lightly across Dawnwaker's forehead. "Those marks I was not able to heal, but the other bumps and bruises are gone." The rogue looked at her with incomprehension, and she repeated herself. "You bear no other injuries."

"My arms-"

"-are whole. See, reach out and take my hand."

Dawnwaker stared at her, then looked down at her right arm. It hung limp at her side, pain radiating from different points along its length. She looked back up at the woman's eyes and the priestess nodded encouragingly. A deep voice echoed down the corridor then, asking what the hold up was, and the woman snapped her fingers at the girl who had been watching with wide eyes. She nodded and immediately took off running back down the tunnel, but Dawnwaker's view of her destination was blocked. She blinked furiously against the pain as the woman took her hand and used it to lift up her arm.

"What's your name?"

Try as she might, the rogue could think of no reason not to tell her. By the state of her robe and her presence in the Stockade this was no one valued by those above. At best she would be of help, and at worst…well, death would be a relief from agony at this point. She spoke softly, matching the woman's tone.

"I am called Dawnwaker."

There was no reaction, no hissing intake of breath at recognition. The woman only smiled and replied, "I am called Anna. Now, hold your arm there."

She removed her hand and Dawnwaker grimaced but held her arm steady, using all her strength. Then, with a frown, she extended it a little, biting her lip against the waves of pain that rocked her. Then she bent it and straightened it again, and tears did run down her cheeks now as the agony hit again and again with each motion.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

"That's good," Anna said, still encouraging. Dawnwaker looked up at her, unable to hide the fear in her eyes.

"What's wrong here?"

For something was wrong, badly so. Her arm was behaving as it always would, muscles responding in time, the motions smooth. Her eyes told her that it was straight and strong, and her fingers all bent and unbent as they were meant to. But with each motion pain washed over her, and her mind told her right where each break was. Anna did not answer except to ask her to try and stand. Her body was behaving so strangely that Dawnwaker thought she would, just to see what would happen. She brought her arm down to the stone floor and pressed both palms firmly against the rock, doing her best to ignore the pain screaming through her. Blood began trickling from her lip as she bit down harder, but it went unnoticed under the rest. Then, steeling herself, she pushed and came to her knees, then stood to her feet with a surge. The upright position did not last long. Even as she stood her mind shrieked in warning and showed her images of shattered bones giving under her weight and suddenly the stone floor was rushing toward her. Anna caught her as best she could and would not let her lie down, but instead brought her to the nearest wall and told her to lean on that. Dawnwaker tried, and finally stood long enough to look down the hall and then down at her straight legs and her feet inside her solid boots planted firmly on the ground. Her mind rebelled at this, for the sensations it was sending and receiving all dictated that the legs should not be able to hold her, that they would collapse any moment, and her eyes began to swim as her inner ear threatened to throw her from the wall. She clutched at it with both broken hands and attempted a step, only to go down on one knee as her mind betrayed her again. What was happening? Shapes swam in front of her and she struggled to grasp them as one circle collapsed in on another and the whole world turned to mist and vapors. Dimly she heard Anna calling for someone and she felt supporting arms beneath both of hers and suddenly they were moving at great speeds past flying stone walls and dark doorways. She tried to reconcile what she knew, but the more she tried to understand the more confused her mind became. It was only when she stopped thinking in that direction and concentrated on her surroundings that she was able to drag her vision back into any semblance of focus.

They were rushing through a stone tunnel with doors on either side. Two men were supporting her, and a dwarf, the girl, and Anna were hurrying alongside them, casting worried glances all around. But the end of the corridor was drawing nearer and they had all visibly relaxed when a closed door to their right suddenly burst open and four men charged into the hallway. The reaction was immediate: the two men supporting her shoved her backwards and the girl caught her, struggling under the sudden weight. The dwarf was already at work, his huge fists making mincemeat of the first attacker, and the two men waded into the fight with confidence, matching their own strength against the rabble. Anna made no attempt to join the attack, instead she watched closely and sent tight beams of light in every now and then, and Dawnwaker realized she was playing the role of healer. As no one had weapons there were no deep bleeding wounds that would need more than a quick burst of holy energy. But the numbers of the ambushers continued to increase, and soon the three _endhi_ were badly outnumbered. Dawnwaker's eyes wandered over the fight, the combat part of her mind weighing the possibilities and openings, and picking out the leader with ease. If he could be taken down, the rest would probably not fight with so much purpose. Then she remembered the small knife at the girl's side and looked down, briefly confused. Oh, of course. Her mind was slow to catch up, but eventually she worked it out, no weapons for the mobs to steal, the men would rely on their fists, but just in case any got past them, they had given the girl a knife to defend herself with. The kid stood stock still, her eyes wide and her jaw working. She would never expect the rogue next to her to move. Neither would the rest.

With a great effort Dawnwaker rounded all of the distracting pain down into a tight place and shut a lid over it, giving her mind wholly to the combat instincts. Red crept at the corners of her vision as she bent all her focus on the danger, and the enemy. A hand dipped smoothly down to lift the girl's knife from her belt and with movements sure and fluid she was in the melee, and the blade was in the leader's throat. From there she and the other three continued to make quick work of the rest, but her combat barriers that held pain at bay were crumbling quickly, and as the last ambusher fell she could feel twinges deep inside at the location of the breaks. Blood dripped from the tip of the knife's blade and fell in the puddle on the floor with an audible _plop_ and she realized that the rest were staring at her with wary eyes. No, not at her, at her hand, with the knife. Her eyes went to it and she raised it slowly for a better look, but her arm was shaking with the effort to ignore what the growing aches were trying to tell her. Anna's voice cut through the surging storm and somehow penetrated the layer of fog.

"Dawnwaker?" She looked. The woman had her arm around the girl, and the girl's lips were pressed in a thin line. At a nudge she extended her open hand. Dawnwaker looked back down at the knife and slowly turned it around and handed to the child, grip first. She took it and quickly wiped the blood away with practiced motions before sticking it back in her belt. There might have been an audible sigh as everyone relaxed, but Dawnwaker did not notice. All she had time for before the pain flooded in again was the thought of how _wrong_ the knife looked in the girl's hand, and then her limbs began screaming once more and the floor rose toward her and all she knew was darkness.

* * *

When she woke she felt no different. Torchlight flickered faintly on a stone ceiling and she looked around in confusion, attempting not to move her neck too much. Underneath her was enough straw to cushion her from the stone floor, and a blanket to cover the straw. A second blanket covered her, and a little way off against the wall was a low three-legged stool, and then a partially cracked door made of heavy wooden beams that parted in the middle to make way for a narrow barred window. That was all. At least the door wasn't shut, and that was a good sign. Not that she was going anywhere. But then, she had been able to fight, to maintain mobility, but only for a short while before the pain had overwhelmed her again. She put her head back with a groan and waited for someone to come in and check on her. Perhaps the healer, Anna, would be able to do something. Carefully she drew one hand out from underneath the blanket and held it up before her, spreading her fingers wide. Agony followed each motion and her head started to swim as once again her mind and her eyes told her different things. She let the hand fall back to the rough fabric and watched the light dancing on the ceiling. A long while passed, and to keep herself from complete boredom she began counting breaks. The pain was so specific and so localized that it wasn't difficult, and in a twisted way it actually served to distract her from the hurts themselves. She began at the bottom and went up. Both feet crushed. Five breaks in her lower legs, both kneecaps crushed, three breaks in her femurs. Her pelvis felt intact, as did her neck and backbone. Well those made sense, the pelvis was difficult to break and the backbone housed nerves necessary for her to feel every snap in her legs. She continued up. Nearly every rib broken, cracked breastbone, fingers all broken, wrists dislocated, six breaks below her elbows and three above, left arm dislocated, and a broken collarbone. Her skull seemed whole. Tereth had been thorough, and yet…she raised her arm again and lowered it quickly before her mind could fall into the spinning circles. What had happened to her?

The door opened then with a scrape as it ran over the stone floor and the girl entered carrying a bowl in one hand and a mug in the other. She hooked one foot underneath the stool and slid it over to the blood elf's bed, then sat down with a thunk and shoved the mug at her.

"Here."

Dawnwaker looked down at the mug and back up at the girl, giving her the same expression she had given Anna back by the stairs. The girl shook her hand in emphasis and a few drops of water spilled from the lip of the cup.

"Anna says the more you do, the faster you might get better. So…" She shook the mug again. Dawnwaker stared at it for a moment more, then carefully lifted her hand and got a grip on the cup, using her eyes rather than touch to reassure herself that she was indeed holding it. Then she lifted it to her mouth, took a sip of clear, cold water, and handed it back, arm trembling with the effort. The girl watched her and took the mug back without comment and set both it and the bowl on the floor within reach of the bed.

"I found you, you know." Her voice dropped. "I wasn't supposed to be out past the patrol, but I don't think I'll get in trouble now, they're so caught up with you. Most of us have never seen a blood elf, you know. They don't know what to make of you, but since you're not crazy yet they think you might be able to help. I'm Kiera by the way." She stuck out her hand.

Dawnwaker looked at it for a moment and focused again, raising her hand and allowing the girl to shake it. But spots began dancing before her eyes and she quickly laid it back on the blanket. An uncertain look crossed the girl's face, as if she'd done something wrong and Dawnwaker spoke quickly to reassure her.

"Thank you for finding me, Keira. I'm Dawnwaker, Captain Jalyria Dawnwaker. What did you mean when you said I'm not crazy yet?"

"Oh, it's just your forehead."

"My forehead?" Instinctively she reached to feel her skin and encountered ridges, then with a shock she realized her arm didn't hurt. But the exact moment she remembered the pain came flooding back and an image entered her mind unbidden, of cartoons she had seen once long ago in which someone would run off a cliff and not plummet through the air until they looked down and realized there was nothing beneath them. She frowned, but Kiera was speaking again.

"You've got that mark on your forehead. Oh, I guess you can't see it. It's like diamonds, or um…part of a fence. You know, the criss-cross ones we had back home, made out of metal?"

"A chain-link fence?"

"Yeah, one of those. Everyone who's come in here with that mark on them has been absolutely mad, 'cept you. Most of them are gone now. They uh…did it themselves when none of us would do it for them. Lila's the only other one here right now 'sides you, and she just mumbles all the time." She shifted uncomfortably on the stool. "But you seem alright so far."

Dawnwaker knew she was _not_ alright, but the girl looked like she didn't need anymore bad news, and the idea of talking to her about these things seemed as wrong as the armor and the knife had. So she asked another question instead.

"And why would you all need my help?"

Kiera squirmed again, reaching a hand down and turning the bowl around. "Well, see, we're kindav stuck down here. I mean, we're not, we can get out, we've got ways, but…we can't be seen in the city, you know? They put all of us down here for a reason. And really it's not so bad, or it wouldn't be if we had the whole place to ourselves, but the all the criminals are down here too. So they've got a wing and we've got a wing and the third wing that leads to the entrance is kindav neutral. And they're always attacking us to get to the shafts we've got up into the city, and we're always beating them back, but both sides of us keep getting more as more people get thrown in here."

"So they want me to help fight?"

"Oh no, we've got plenty of people for that. They think…well there's a rumor."

"What?"

"Well…they're saying up there in the city, others like us that is, that you've got a way for us to go home." Her eyes were undeniably hopeful now and Dawnwaker felt another twinge but this one wasn't in her bones. She spoke softly, hating the thought of dashing the girl's dream.

"I don't have one now, Kiera." The girl's face fell. "But friends of mine are looking for one, and they might have it soon." At this her face lit up once again.

"We'll do anything to help you get out then! Even if you are Horde."

Dawnwaker cracked a small smile. "My thanks."

"But why were you here in the first place?"

"Oh now that's a long story."

But Kiera showed no sign of going anywhere, so she told her about Undercity and the attack, glossing over the messier bits, and about the long journey that had been so hard. About half way through Anna slipped in the door and stood unobtrusively by the wall, but Dawnwaker continued as if she weren't there, answering Keira's many questions. When she finished neither of them spoke, though the girl finally noticed the healer and scrambled up from the stool to make way for her. Anna sat gracefully.

"Would you mind if I examined you again?" Dawnwaker shook her head. "And then we can talk." She lifted her hands then, but did not touch the blood elf, instead wrinkling her forehead in concentration and looking hard into the middle distance. The rogue and girl watched her without comment until the door creaked again and a boy poked his head in. He couldn't have been more than twelve, and he keep his wide eyes fixed on Dawnwaker as he spoke.

"Thorom wants to see you, Kiera." The girl moved slowly, obviously not wanting to leave the room, until Anna waved one hand distractedly.

"Go on, I'll let you know if I need you." She left then, and the healer continued her work. After what seemed like a long while she put her hands down and let out a sigh. "Well, perhaps I've found it."

"And?"

She shook her head in regret and Dawnwaker's heart sank. Anna must had seen her expression fall because she spoke quickly. "Oh no, no, it's bad, but it can be cured, I think. I just can't do it myself. You've got a curse on you, you see, just like the others."

"Kiera told me. She said they all went insane."

"That's true. Allow me to explain. This curse, it's bound to your body. As near as I can tell, that's what these marks up here are." She ran a hand over the rogue's forehead, tracing the different marks. "I was able to heal the rest of your wounds without scars, but these stayed. I don't think they have any bearing on the curse anymore, but that's where it entered your blood, so the mark stayed. As for the curse itself, it seems to be the Curse of Agony. I'm not certain of that, but it does fit."

Dawnwaker frowned, trying to place the name. Was that a warlock's curse? She had never played one, but she couldn't remember another class that used curses with any frequency.

"So what exactly does it do, just cause pain?"

"It causes pain, yes. But it does so by creating phantom wounds."

"So all these broken bones I feel…it's not real."

Anna shook her head. "No, it's not real." She leaned over to tap a finger on Dawnwaker's forehead. "It's all up here."

"So…" She sat up suddenly and threw the blanket off. "…I should be able to-" As she went to stand her head began spinning, legs threatened to buckle under the impression that they were not capable of supporting weight. Images warred in her mind and her vision blurred as nerves and eyes told her two different things and Anna had to catch her to keep her from crashing back into the straw. "I think," she said slowly, "that I know how the others lost their minds."

Anna nodded sympathetically. "As I said, I cannot remove the curse. But perhaps since you know it's there, you can fight it. But please, don't drive yourself mad. We don't know how long it lasts. Most killed themselves before anything could be done. We found a druid to heal Lila, but her mind was already gone. That was after about three weeks, so we know it lasts that long at least." She paused as she drew the blanket back up over the rogue's arms "I'll sent word into the city to find someone like us who can come down here and remove the curse. But there were never many druids or shamans here to begin with, and most of the mages were killed early on." She hesitated again, probably dealing with unpleasant memories, Dawnwaker thought. Her mind went elsewhere, to a druid who would have been able to help, if he had lived, and if he wasn't so far away. How foolish she had been to go charging straight into Lakeshire! Her water-starved mind hadn't been able to think far enough ahead to fashion some sort of disguise, or even to dismount and let the nightsaber carry Tariq in by itself. If she hadn't been such an idiot she would never had been captured in the first place and would be with her guild right now. But she would also have never learned of the Alliance army that even now must be hard on their heels. Blast that Tereth, may he burn in Ragefire…she stopped.

"Anna…who would have cursed me?"

The priestess looked surprised. "I just assumed Geoff Tereth did it. All of the others came in here mumbling his name over and over."

Dawnwaker nodded. "But Tereth is a warrior, not a warlock."

"What?"

She twisted her head to see Anna's dumbstruck face. "You didn't know?"

The healer blinked twice and shook her head. "No, none of us have ever seen him. The only ones who have…well they ended up with this." She tapped her forehead.

Dawnwaker nodded, her face grim. "He's like us, you know, _endhi_. And no one up there in the Keep knows it. He appears to have gone to great lengths to keep it that way."

Anna frowned. "That only makes sense. The way we are treated here, he would never be allowed to hold such a position if he were one of us. Are you sure he is?"

"Yes. He has the eyes."

"Ah. This isn't good."

"No, it's not. Anna, how long do you think I'll be here?"

"There's no telling how long it will take to find someone to remove that curse. But you _can_ handle yourself, if you can get past the pain. Just-"

"-don't drive myself nuts trying. I know." Setting her jaw, she focused on blocking out the agony once more and reached for the mug to take another sip of water. Perhaps if she practiced enough…

"What does _endhi_ mean?"

"Hmm, what?"

"_Endhi_. You said it just a moment ago, talking about Tereth. What did you mean?"

Dawnwaker blinked, trying to comprehend the utter lack of ignorance these people had been left in. It should not have been so, that had been the task of Alexstrasza's eight messengers to the great cities of Azeroth. They were to educate the _endhi_ and others alike, to bring peace in a time where ignorance could spark a war. _A war._ The pieces began falling into place, then, so quickly she could hardly blink. How Varian-or perhaps only his officials, since they had implied the king was away and therefore could not have spoken with Sylvanas at the time-had maneuvered the prisoner exchange to be made at the Dark Portal, necessitating their travel through Alliance lands. How General Hunter had reacted with puzzlement to her information that should have been common knowledge. How Tariq had given his life for her, an Ally for one of the Horde, because she had wished to help _all_ the _endhi_… And a ring, amber in a bronze setting, on the man's hand as he wiped it clean of her blood. She had latched onto that ring because she had seen it before, a long time past, on a tower in the sky. It had been on another man's finger then, one of the eight, the tall knight to whom Alexstrasza had entrusted Stormwind. The messenger never reached the city, or, if he had, Tereth had killed him before his message could be spread. With a sinking heart she wondered what other Alliance cities had met the same fate. Perhaps all, or perhaps none.

_I was in Alterac Valley_… She had heard stories about the battlegrounds at the moment of the Rising. The slaughter, the massacre of so many _endhi_ as each side fought to the death, and the overwhelming despair as the survivors realized what had happened and what they had just done. Who knew what atrocity Tereth had done or witnessed in those snowy hills, what horrible act had led him to such hate? It scarcely mattered now, for it was clear that what drove him was stronger than vengeance. He was too controlled to be insane, and with a sense of deflation she realized his flaw, for it was the same as hers. He _liked_ the killing, the carnage, the art of a dagger piercing flesh. Perhaps the only thing that separated them was her encounter with Alexstrasza.

The thought made her ashamed and angry at the same time and it was with great effort that she relayed the dragonqueen's message to Anna and explained her thoughts. Anna's frown was growing deeper and deeper, and when she spoke it dripped with anger.

"That all makes sense. The king has been away on visits of state for several months now, and his son with him. Whoever your Dark Lady negotiated with, it wasn't him."

Dawnwaker eased her head back to stare at the ceiling once more, the certainty of the knowledge like a crushing weight in her chest. "We were misled." She had known this to some extent when they had first left Undercity, but neither herself nor Sylvanas had imagined it was this great. She felt the absence of the amulet at her neck more keenly now than ever, for if there was a time necessary to speak to the banshee queen, it was now. But all she could do was try to send a message out to warn Gether. Perhaps he could get word to Sylvanas. She opened her mouth to tell Anna, but the priestess' mind was sharp and she was already ahead of her.

"I'll send word for a messenger when I send for the other healers. We'll find a way to protect both our peoples, blood elf."

Dawnwaker smiled her thanks. "I think, perhaps, that our peoples are one and the same, priestess. The factions of this world have kept us from seeing that for far too long."

Anna nodded. "I heard you telling Kiera of the guild you captured, and of Tariq Eventide. I knew him and the rest once, before they left many months ago. They would trade with us for supplies and information. I'm sorry to hear of what happened to him."

The rogue's face fell at this and Anna reached over to pat her hand. "I'll let those of his guild who remained here know what has happened. I suspect they will wish to help you too when they know of the threat to their friends. And maybe they will have an idea as to how a warrior was able to give you a warlock's curse."

"But I thought…then it was not the entire guild we captured in Undercity?"

"Very nearly, I think. There are only a few left in the guild house to care for things until the others return." Here she frowned, as if the thought that they might never come back to the city had just occurred to her. She stood swiftly and gathered her skirts about her and made for the door, calling over her shoulder that she would see the messages sent off as quickly as possible, and just like that Dawnwaker was left alone again to stare at the torchlight on the ceiling and wonder what would become of them all.

* * *

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay on this chapter. It turned out to be longer than anticipated. Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the story!


	20. Cleansed

For three days Dawnwaker saw nothing but her own little cell, and occasionally the walls of the corridor beyond. Anna continued to work with her, encouraging her to put the pain out of her head and take back control of her body, but each motion left the rogue pale and damp with sweat, and the few times she managed to stand on her own usually ended with a blackout. But the priestess was patient and gentle and never faltered in her firm belief that Dawnwaker would make a full recovery. The blood elf was less sure, and all her hope centered not on a cure for herself, but rather that someone would be found willing to take her message to Gether and that a wholesale slaughter of _endhi_ would be avoided. Still, Anna was able to distance some of the pain from her by roundabout means, and by the end of the third day she was able to walk all the way around her cell without the world going too fuzzy. It was a monumental accomplishment, made all the greater by the news the dwarf brought her after Anna had left to fetch her supper. The dwarf's name was Thorom, and much of the time she had not spent trying to make herself walk had been spent with him, talking. He was apparently the main go-between for the _endhi_ in the Stockade and rest of the city, primarily because there was a warrant out for his arrest. He had grinned mischievously through his beard at her as he told her his reasoning: if he was ever caught sneaking out of the Stockade, they could not say he was escaping, for he'd never been imprisoned. And if he was caught sneaking _in_, well, what could they do? Dawnwaker had her doubts, but the system seemed to work overall. Now as he entered she caught the faint smell of fresh straw and bread mingled with other more subtle scents, leather oil, and rain. It was so different from the musty smell of the prison that she knew immediately that he had to have come straight from the surface. Thorom gave her a quick grin and set a package by the door, then tested Anna's low stool with one hand. Apparently he was only partially reassured of its integrity, for he sat down with care and did not relax until every creak of the wood had ceased. Dawnwaker did not blame him, he was a large fellow, despite his height, and the stool was small.

"Well I've got good news for ye, blood elf. We've found someone to take yer message. _And_ he's a healer, but it won't be easy gettin' to him. He can't come down here; they're watching the place he's stayin'." He gave her a worried look. "We can't have them followin' him to our secret doors, so we're going up there. Think you're up to it?"

Dawnwaker grimaced. At the rate she was going, she wouldn't be 'up for it' for another few weeks at least. But there was no time for that, and once the curse was off the pain would be gone. She could endure it for the time it would take to get to the house, surely, and perhaps such activity would even wake up whatever had happened that allowed her to fight the ambushers several nights ago. Anna had asked her about that again and again, but the nearest Dawnwaker could tell her was that she'd just able to shift to her battle mind in which all else went unnoticed, but she didn't think she could do it again with nothing around to fight. She had tried making herself angry, but that hadn't worked either. If worst came to worst they could just carry her through the streets under a blanket.

"One way or another," she answered the dwarf.

"That's the spirit!"

She managed to roll her eyes at him. For all the horror of this city and state of his living conditions, Thorom was entirely too cheerful. Kiera had suggested it had something to do with the rumors of a potential way home for the _endhi_, but Dawnwaker had decided that he was just one of those annoyingly optimistic people.

"Should I go ahead and dictate a message?"

"What, you can't write? Oh, your hand." Thorom looked suspiciously at her straight, healthy fingers, then shook his head. "Nah, you can write it once you're healed. For that matter you can just go with the messenger yourself."

"Will I be better that quickly?"

"Anna makes it sound so. But see, it's the healer who's going, and he has to heal you 'fore he can go, so…"

"Ah, I understand."

"Good. Then we'll be leavin' tomorrow morning, 'fore it's light. That's a cloak with a hood there, to hide your face 'n ears."

"Thank you."

He heaved himself to his feet, then jumped back as the door opened and Anna came in balancing plates of food, followed closely by Kiera with a large jug. "Ah, Thorom!" she said brightly. "Staying for dinner then?"

"Nah, I've some more errands to run." The dwarf gave a small bow to the priestess and a friendly salute to Kiera before he hurried out the door.

* * *

The next morning found an odd party moving through the passages of the Stockade. Dawnwaker had attempted the first bit of the walk by herself, but now she was leaning heavily on Anna and Kiera's shoulders. Thorom had offered his own arm, but she was almost too tall to lean on the two women, much less the short dwarf. It seemed to take forever to reach the shaft that led to the world above, and as Thorom pulled on the mechanism to open the trapdoor, Dawnwaker looked on in trepidation. When the stones had shifted he reached up and pulled down a rope, gave a few sharp tugs, and nodded at Kiera. She took it and immediately shimmied up out of sight. Anna helped the rogue a little closer so that she could look up the shaft, and after a moments squinting she realized that the rope only went up about ten feet and was supplemented by hand and footholds cut in the rock. Kiera was even now bracing herself against either wall while she worked another mechanism to remove the stone at the top, but when it slipped aside no light filtered down, only a few drops of water that hit the stone floor with a _smack_.

"Black as pitch. Good," grunted Thorom as the girl's feet slid over the lip of the rock above and her head reappeared after a moment. She gave a signal with her hands and the dwarf nodded at Anna. "All clear. Up you go then."

The woman quickly slid out from under Dawnwaker's arm and gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, dear, but it was all we could think of." With that she produced the small knife and dragged it lightly over the blood elf's arm. Dawnwaker's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed as her mind fell into combat channels. Anna was quick though, the knife was immediately concealed and she stabbed a finger up at the hole in the rock. "Climb!"

Dawnwaker didn't hesitate; she grabbed the rope quickly and hauled with all her might, straining to reach the top before the red in her vision gave way to the blurriness that accompanied the phantom pain. Kiera caught her at the top and hauled her over, then left her panting against a wall as she turned back to assist the other two. Anna soon emerged, breathless, but alert. She looked all around carefully before going to the rogue and wrapping her in the cloak. Thorom came up under his own power and immediately pointed back down the hole. Kiera shook her head but he gestured emphatically and after one last longing look at the patch of dark sky barely visible through the drizzle she raised a hand in farewell and dropped back down the shaft. Moments later the stone moved with a barely audible grind and the dwarf, the woman, and the elf were left alone in the alley. "Ready?" Anna asked softly and Dawnwaker grimaced but pushed herself from the wall to lean heavily on the priestess' shoulder. If she could just focus on the hard edges of the stones in the walls, on the firmness of the pavement beneath her feet, then perhaps she could remember what was real and what was cruel trickery. So focused was she on this that she missed the several close calls they had as they darted from building to building through the rain and dashed across a very exposed bridge over the black waters of the canal. At last they settled into some bushes and she realized with a start that they were in the Park. Once again, Anna was ahead of her. She spoke in a barely audible whisper.

"Most of the _endhi_ guilds that managed to reform ended up with guild houses here. It's nice and quiet…should be safe enough once we get you inside."

They were about to make a dash for it when the door they were aiming for suddenly opened, spilling yellow lamplight onto the grass. Silhouetted in the frame was a draenei, her horns making a distinct shadow. She glanced around outside, then very deliberately shook her head and closed the door firmly. Thorom settled back down into the bushes with a frown. "Must have more people watching here than we can see," he grunted. Dawnwaker levered herself far enough up to look around, and sure enough there were not only two men concealed in the shadows around the small square, but there was another crouched right against the side of the building itself. If she approached the door cloaked like this they would surely raise an alarm. But perhaps she didn't have to go in through the door.

Tugging on Anna's sleeve to get her attention she whispered under her breath. "You two go on through the door and have them open a window. I'll meet you inside." Anna stared at her, uncomprehending, but Thorom nodded eagerly. "Knew ye could do it. Ye just be careful now, hear?" The priestess was still shaking her head but Dawnwaker gave her a shove in the right direction and hunkered farther down in the brush, putting all the determination she had on her face. Anna hesitated a moment longer, but Thorom's faith in the rogue seemed to convince her, and she slipped away with a frown on her face. Dawnwaker watched long enough to be sure they got in the building, then focused on corralling the pain as she had at the ambush and capping it tight. It was a bit easier this time and she felt a leap of hope that perhaps she would be strong enough to defeat this all on her own.

The dwarf and the woman were admitted to the house without any fuss, and the hidden sentries did not stir. The two were obviously not Horde, and neither wore a cloak voluminous enough to conceal anything. The rain began coming down harder and Dawnwaker glanced up through it with a squint. Rain made roofwalking easier and more difficult at the same time. Tiles would be slippery, but the steady noise of the downpour would cover the sound of any missteps. Quickly she took her cloak off and tore most of the lower length away, leaving only enough to cover her shoulders as she put it back on. Then pulling the hood tight around her head and clamping down even harder on the pain in her limbs and chest she began to move sideways, silently. It was a tempting thing to come up behind one of the sentries and ask him just who he was watching for, but then she would have to kill him, and nothing screamed I'm over here! quite like a dead guard. From the way the sentries stood she thought they had probably been stationed here long before she had ever entered the city and were probably charged with keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity from the _endhi_ guild that owned the house. That didn't mean they wouldn't immediately spot a blood elf who wasn't careful enough as she skulked around. Thus, it took her a good while to get from the cover of the bush to a wall that she could climb without being seen, and by the time she emerged on the rooftop the blackness of the sky was beginning to give way to a slightly grayish tint in the east. She looked up, wary for sentries on taller buildings, but everything more than a few yards away was concealed by the falling sheets of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance and she took advantage of the sound, moving quickly along the flat section of roof to a slanted bit, and jumping from there to a balcony. For a moment she was forced to stop as her legs gave way beneath her, but a few moments concentration enabled her to go on. From there she was able to quickly map out a mostly-hidden path back to the guild house, and she covered it without incident. Finally she came to the last roof and looked carefully over the edge.

She was standing above a long alleyway, two stories up. On the other side of the gap yawned a window, shutters and panes thrown wide open to the rain, causing it to flicker in the faint lamplight. Beneath the window there was nothing but solid wall; the only door that opened to the alley led to the building who's roof she currently occupied. That explained why the sentry at the end of the passageway was paying no attention at all to the dark stretch of path behind him. A crack of lightning lit everything momentarily and she glanced up uneasily, then lined herself up with the window and took a deep breath. She had done this countless times before, but not in a rainstorm and not under a curse. But this was the way. Steeling herself, she leapt across the gap, arms reaching for the eaves of the opposite roof. At first it seemed as if she might slip from the wet tiles, but her grip tightened. She hung by her fingers then for a brief moment before her momentum carried her forward through the open window and she landed on the floor in a crouch.

The low murmur of conversation that had filled the room stopped immediately, and she got the impression that though they had been watching for her at the window she had still managed to take them by surprise. Perhaps they had expected her to crawl up through the window inch by inch on trembling arms. Satisfaction filled her at the thought and she straightened up, fighting to keep the lid on the pain for just a few moments longer as she pulled her hood back and took in the room. Despite its being a second floor room, the chamber seemed to serve no particular purpose except for company. A few tables sat here and there, covered with papers and books that flickered in the light of the fire roaring on the large hearth. The rest of the space was covered with chairs and the wood-slat floor boasted an entire huge bearskin. Six people occupied the chairs; she recognized Thorom and Anna, as well as the draenei in the chair to the left, she was the one who had warned them away from the front door of the house. The two men beside her were unfamiliar, one was obviously young and slight-she pegged him as a rogue immediately-and the other had the burly build of a hunter who might spend all of his time wrestling monstrous beasts to the ground with his bare hands. The furry pelt on the floor had probably come from his efforts. But she took all of this in peripherally, for the sixth person, the one sitting at the table with the priestess and the dwarf, was a night elf druid.

She was so taken by surprise that there was suddenly no need to hold back the pain, for it fled from her mind to make a place for the shock. For a moment she only stared, then miraculously a word managed to find its way out of her mouth without a stutter.

"Tariq?"

Tariquelan Eventide looked back at her, an indecipherable expression on his face, then nodded a greeting.

"Jalyria."

Anna stood quickly, wringing her hands. "We would have told you of course, if we'd known it was him, but we only just found out ourselves…"

Dawnwaker ignored her and stood blinking at the druid, who seemed to get fed up with this rather quickly. "Are you _that_ surprised to see me alive? Really?"

"No," she stammered quickly. "It's just… why aren't you with the caravan? Why on earth did you come _here_?"

He looked back at her silently for what felt like an uncomfortable length of time. She stared right back, letting her frustration leak through her eyes. Eventually the hunter cleared his throat and stood up to shut the window and pull a curtain over it.

"Come on," he said gruffly, motioning to the other man. "We'd best be about those supplies." The young rogue looked from him to Tariq, then eased himself lazily from his own chair and followed the larger man out the door. Then the draenei stood as well and said something to Thorom about treats for the kids underground and they followed the men out, her hooves somehow making less noise on the wood floor than the dwarf's heavy boots. That only left Anna, who seemed to suddenly become very interested in the book on the table at her elbow. Tariq paid her no mind and pushed himself off his chair. Dawnwaker resisted the urge to take a step back as he advanced on her, forcing her to look up at him. Only when he was right in front of her did he speak again.

"Surely you must have _some_ idea as to why I would come here rather than follow the caravan."

There he went again, refusing to give her direct answers. She supposed it was all she deserved after keeping so many secrets from him, but that didn't mean she liked it any better, and that added to the pain and helplessness of the last few days made her angry. She glared up at him and spoke more spitefully than she meant to.

"You probably wanted to make sure I hadn't blown up Stormwind before you could stop me. Or perhaps you thought you'd visit some old friends, or maybe you just like the cheese here. _I don't know!"_ She side-stepped around him to put some distance between them and jabbed a finger at his chest and the deep red gem that hung there in its setting. "You were _supposed_ to take that to the caravan, to find Gether! You _promised!"_

"Jal-"

His tone was sharp, but she wasn't finished yet. "I suppose it's my fault, really, but if I had told you everything then you would have run screaming to the nearest Alliance outpost and have done with Shadowshield! Take the amulet to Gether, that's all I asked, and you bring it _here?"_

"Jal!" He had hold of her shoulders and was bent over so as to look her straight in the eye. "What haven't you told me?"

Pain was lancing through her bones and she smacked his hands away. "I suppose I can't make it any worse by telling you now." She paced to the center of the room and back, hands on her hips, ignoring the twinges that were starting to creep over her limbs. At last she face him and sighed.

"We used your guild, Tariq. And, as it turns out, the Alliance used your guild too."

He didn't blink, only watched her steadily as he waited for her to elaborate. But she asked him a question instead.

"When I interrogated your General Hunter back in Undercity he said that no one else knew about your guild's raid. I already know that's false; Anna here at least knew you were gone, which implies others outside your guild knew as well. So who all did you tell?"

He frowned, his forehead creasing. "Well we needed supplies, so I imagine a good many of the merchants were probably able to put two and two together. And some in the Stockade, we used to help them out from time to time, it was only right to tell them we were leaving. But other than that…" His voice trailed off.

"What about before? You said this was General Hunter's way of proving the _endhi_'s worth to the Alliance. Where did he get that idea?"

Anna made a strangled sound as she figured out where Dawnwaker was going with this, but neither of the others turned towards her. Dawnwaker's eyes were fixed intently on Tariq now, and he was staring at nothing as he sought to remember.

"I can't say, exactly. Only that he used to go up to the Keep to try and sort things out a bit and always came back angrier than ever. He'd just come back from another meeting when he asked me what I thought of the idea. As I told you, I didn't like it, but he was dead set on it. So off we went."

Dawnwaker was nodding slowly now. "Well then until I can talk to Hunter again I won't have proof. But I'd bet anything that Tereth put the idea into his head."

"Tereth?"

"Geoff Tereth." Quickly she explained what she knew about him and Tariq confirmed that he'd only known what Anna and the rest had, that he was (supposedly) a warlock placed highly among the nobles of Stormwind. Her revelation about his true character was not taken well, and she could see the druid fuming silently. But she pressed on.

"Now Sylvanas and the guild masters of Undercity did have some idea that your attack might be a feint. After the interrogations we thought you were probably tricked into it, but we weren't sure. So Sylvanas set up the negotiations to give our spies time to ferret out the truth."

"You have _spies_ in Stormwind?"

"Well most if not all of them are dead now," she said sourly. "They discovered a plot to destroy the Forsaken completely. Your guild was meant to draw the army away from Undercity; they knew a long journey with so many prisoners would require a large force. Then, when the army was deep in Alliance lands with no way of getting back quickly, Stormwind's army would attack the defenseless city."

"But wouldn't we have seen-"

"They've been using ships, sneaking them up the Silverpine coast."

Tariq's expression went deathly still. "Sylvanas has been watching them."

"And the army is waiting for them, along with all of the warrior's, paladin's, and warlock's guilds. Undercity is safe." She took a deep breath. "We think they do not know about the _endhi_ guilds, about the cooperation present there. Where the best soldiers here are crowded into a prison, ours are organized fighting units. Of course, had we known the situation here, we might have planned a bit differently. We were anticipating running into guilds like our own. We expected to be fighting _endhi_. That was one of the reasons I volunteered Shadowshield for the journey. I would rather we be the guards of a group of _endhi_ than be their killers. One of the other reasons Shadowshield was chosen to spearhead the journey was our talent for making things look like what they are not. We took more mounts than necessary, more supplies. With each Alliance outpost we passed we increased our numbers, flitting from place to place in the shadows to look like many more than we were. The squads Sylvanas and Raxfician sent with us were always front and center, commanding the most attention. And last I heard, Stormwind has bought the deception. But then, only days ago, I discovered something that we did not anticipate."

Carefully she explained what she had heard in the Keep, and when she came to the part about traitors, Tariq's face went ashen.

"So this army Tereth kept in reserve will slaughter everyone, your guild and mine?"

"Unless they play their cards right, yes, I fear so."

The druid stood still for a moment longer, then smashed his hand down on the table with a loud crash and swore. "All along he's wanted a war! That's what this is about, yes? A blasted war to break this tenuous truce between the Horde and the Alliance."

"He saw the _endhi_-his own people-for the threat they were to his plans," Dawnwaker said softly. "That's why he killed Alexstraza's messenger. That's why he'll kill your guild along with mine, unless they do as he wishes. This-" she gestured to herself and Tariq- "is what he fears. A union of Alliance and Horde _endhi_ who will champion peace in the name of another world, nearly forgotten."

Tariq was still pale, his fists clenched. "Just pawns," he muttered under his breath. "Just pawns sent to die, cared for by no one. _Used_."

He was angry, just as he should be, that was plain to see. His expression when he turned to her was one of betrayal, and she felt a twinge in her chest, though it might have just been the broken ribs. But she had never pretended to be his friend, though she had entertained the notion briefly in the Burning Steppes. Now she saw how foolish she'd been for even daring to imagine that friendship might exist for two people from separate factions, _endhi_ or not. Her callous use of his people had ended the possibility before the notion even arose, and now whatever attachment might have grown between the two distant guilds would only end in bloodshed. He should hate her as much as she hated herself. But now he knew what she knew and he could carry the message on. There was a vague sense in the back of her mind that something had splintered in her left leg, and she ignored it at first, but then she caught Tariq's face out of the corner of her eye and saw the pain and fury there and all her resolution vanished. Vainly the part of her that hated to be seen as weak fought, but it could not hold back the agony. All of her efforts the past few days turned to naught as she looked down at her feet and realized she had stepped off the cliff, and with that realization she fell.

She heard broken bones grating each other, and though she fought to tell herself that no one else could hear the sound, her mind won. Her eyes flashed back and forth, but they had no strength left to fight what her nerves were telling her. All that effort and she was back where she started, a broken shell. But she did not hit the floor. Even as her legs collapsed beneath her, someone caught her under the arms and she heard Anna's voice from across the room: "I told you she has a curse on her!" and then nearer, Tariq's voice: "Jal!"

But then all faded and she succumbed to the agony once more and welcomed the blackness.

* * *

Tariq caught her before she hit the ground, his anger momentarily overcome by the suddenness of her collapse and his healer's instinct. "I told you she has a curse on her!" Anna snapped at him as she abandoned all pretense of reading the book and hurried over. He ignored her, concentrating on supporting the rogue's head while he eased one of her eyelids up and looked hard at the dull green glow. She was out completely, and probably wouldn't come to for a few hours. With another muttered oath he got both arms underneath the limp body and carried her from the room, followed closely by the priestess, who continued to scold him.

"I told you she'd need healing the moment she got here, but no, let's have a long conversation first! Do you have any idea what the poor girl's been through? And you call yourself a healer. I swear, Tariq, if I hadn't known you before I'd say you didn't care at all whether she was cured or not! Of course I know better."

He shot her a withering look as he pushed a door open with his foot and laid the blood elf gently on the small bed that occupied one corner of the room. Anna pulled the one chair in the room over to the side of the bed and sat down in it with a huff, but Tariq waved her hands away as he bent over and put his fingertips on the the points where the scars on Dawnwaker's forehead crossed. He could feel it there, the deep corruption, and it stabbed back at him like a live thing when he tried to probe further. There was more malevolence there than had been present in the wound in her side, and he could see it like dark tendrils wrapping around the brightness at her core. She had fought it, that much was evident, but she did not have the ability to remove it. Neither did the priestess, who could see the product of the curse, but not its anchor. Such a thing had to be cut off at the roots. Carefully he eased himself back out and lifted his hands. Anna was watching him intently and he shook his head several times to rid it of the black fog that had crept upon him.

"The Curse of Agony. What's it done?"

"It's broken nearly every bone in her body. I don't know how she kept standing for so long back there. She's barely been able to walk."

Tariq nodded at this and put his hands back on Dawnwaker's forehead. Pale green light began to glow between his fingers, snaking up into the air and vanishing with a brief spark of white. Carefully he sought each dark thread and pulled it out until none were left, then he stepped back and leaned tiredly against the wall. Her scars were now only faintly visible, but that was the absolute best he could do. Perhaps it would be good for her to be left with a few scars. He shoved the thought away angrily and was turning to storm out of the room when the priestess' voice stopped him.

"She'll be well, then?"

He turned back around. "Yes. She'll be weak, at first, and she'll sleep for a while, but she should be good as new soon enough."

Anna nodded, still peering at him with an unsettling look in her eyes. "May I ask why you healed her, Tariq? You don't seem yourself."

The druid threw his hands in the air. "What would you think of me if I had left her in that misery? Is that what you think I am now?"

"No, no," she said quickly. "I suppose what I should really ask is why you brought her back before. In the Burning Steppes."

"Ah. She told you about that?" The woman nodded and he sighed. "It's complicated, Anna. She's right, if I'd known then what I know now…"

"I think you still would have done it."

He shrugged. "She claims she's the best hope my guild has for survival."

"So of course that debatable claim is the sole reason you returned to Stormwind to rescue her, rather than rejoin your guild you care so much for?"

"I-" He stopped and turned an accusatory look on her that quickly dissolved into desperation. "Don't play with me Anna. You know things, you see things that the rest of us can't. Perhaps you can tell me how to handle this whole blasted scenario, but I doubt it. She is _dangerous,_ but she is also in danger. She threatens my people and protects them in the same breath. She would have killed me, many times, but then she saved my life instead. She's a beacon, a terrible omen, but she's also the only light in the sky. A lighthouse, you know? Warning of crushing waves and rocks but also signaling the presence of dry land and safety. And I don't know what to do with her."

Anna eyed him shrewdly. "You begin to feel something for her."

"No!" He clenched and unclenched his fists, and his voice grew tired. "I don't know, Anna."

"Then why did you drag her back from death?"

"Because…because every now and then, I would catch a glimpse of the person she was before this world caught hold of her. Before it caught any of us. And I just couldn't let that go." Anna remained silent now, listening as his voice dropped. "People change when they Rise. Those were her words, and she spoke them bitterly." He shook his head. "I fear to follow her, Anna. She's like a storm. She may crush our enemies but I fear the moment the winds change and she turns on _me_ instead. But as a storm is terrible, so it is beautiful, and sometimes I wonder if being burnt by lightning is worth the chance to see it flash through the sky."

Anna's face was now a strange mixture of concern and amusement, and her voice reflected the sentiments in a strange tone as she spoke. "Oh Tariq, best watch yourself, boy. You're beginning to speak like a poet." The remark drew a glare and she smiled a bit sadly and reached over to take one of Dawnwaker's limp hands in her own. "I will tell you what I know. She wept for you when she thought there was no one nearby, for she was convinced you had died to save her." His glare softened a bit at this, and priestess sighed as she continued. "But your fears are well-founded. For what I see here…" She closed her eyes and reached for Tariq's hand, and the druid let her take it with some hesitance. "Ah," she said sadly. "Your death-" He protested then that he did not want to know such a thing and tried to pull his hand away, but Anna kept a firm hold on it. "Though many others may contribute, I see this: that _she_ will deliver the final blow."

Now he did succeed in tearing himself from her grip and the priestess turned her sorrowful eyes to Dawnwaker as she released the rogue's hand as well. Tariq stood still for a few moments, his jaw working until he managed to steady himself and take his eyes from the blood elf's face.

"Call me when she wakes," he snapped, and left the room.


	21. Awakening

_I didn't want to. I did everything I could not to, but he kept coming at me, his eyes blazing and daggers flashing. And when he was down, bleeding out in my arms I knelt there with him and wept harder than I have ever wept before. Why, I asked him. What did I do to make you hate me so? But he did not answer, only opened his eyes once more and I recoiled at the malice in them. Something had happened to him, or perhaps it was something that was there all along, that I had been blind to until now. They had warned me, though I despised them for it. Gether never liked him and Jeneira always frowned when I spoke of him. Only Jansen seemed to get along with him, but perhaps he had been fooled as well. All I know is that last look was all it took to convince me that my Ranken was gone, had died long before now. And then, while his eyes held mine, his hand moved unseen and fire burst in my side, and my pain was the last thing he saw…_

Dawnwaker woke with a gasp and then froze, holding silent as she took in the wooden ceiling above and tried to remember where she was. It came back slowly, but she went through everything carefully and built the images around her. She was in the guild house of the Knights of Stormwind, and she had been healed by _Tariq. Tariq's alive. Not dead. I'm not either._

"Jalyria?"

That was Anna's voice. She turned her head slightly to find the woman sitting in a chair, but she couldn't make out her expression. The room seemed to have gone fuzzy the moment she moved, and for a moment she was afraid the curse had her in its grip once more. But there was no pain.

"Jalyria?" The priestess' voice came once more, but it sounded far off. "What's wrong?"

"Just tired…" It was all she could do to mumble the two words before she fell back into a deeper sleep than before. But dreams still followed her.

_The rogue stood on the deserted road outside the ruined city, calling curses down upon the back of the Banshee Queen as she returned to her kingdom, the sentence pronounced and carried out. All followed her, save me, and when the last of the guards had passed through the crumbling arch of the gateway I remained, not out of any sense of purpose, but because I was lost. I had given him everything, and he had turned on the city and people who had welcomed him and now judgement had been handed down._

_"What will it be then?" He turned to me and his voice was harsh. "Well, Jal? Me or them?"_

_My voice broke when I answered. Couldn't he see how much this pained me? Did he even care about what he'd done? Surely he knew me well enough to know that I would not follow him in blind infatuation, that I had at last begun to see him for the sort of person he was. My answer angered him. I could tell he had thought that I would go with him into his exile, and now he felt as betrayed as I did. The practical side of me felt satisfaction, that he should feel the same pain I did was justice. But the rest of me ached for him, and even as he spat in the dirt and turned away I longed to run after him, to leave everything else behind and put all my trust in his support…ah, but that was why I stayed. I was no fool, and he had had his chances and proved himself to be spiteful and unreliant. I could not trust him. And so I stood, shaking, by the side of the stone road and watched him ride away without so much as glance behind and my pain followed me from that day forth, unceasing…_

The light streaming in from the open window had changed since last time she woke; then it had been weak, but now it was full. Midday, then, or something like. Anna held a cup to her lips and she drank gratefully and tried to give her an apologetic look before she sank back into the dreams. It was strange, the waking and the sleeping, sometimes she would wake enough to speak, other times she would just catch a glimpse of the room before her eyes fell shut. But with each time she woke she felt stronger, as if she were experiencing days of recovery in mere hours. It was a small comfort, and her frustration grew as she remembered her need to deliver the warning, to find and protect the lives of all the _endhi_ in and around her guild...

_The night elf difficult to see, far away and between the trees, but it was not the night elf I was interested in. He was riding a large black Darnassian nightsaber, the finest I had ever seen. Ranken caught the direction of my stare and a grin spread over his face._

_"Go on then."_

_I glanced at him and shook my head, but I looked longingly back at the mount. It was beautiful, even from this distance, thick dark fur that shimmered when it moved, strong muscles putting the paws exactly where they needed to go, glistening fangs…it was a marvel of nature, a beast that could carry and fight alongside its rider. But it was not mine, and I was unlikely to ever have the opportunity to own one. The night elves, _endhi_ and indigenous alike, guarded them carefully, they were not for the Horde. I met a Forsaken once who had caught one wandering one of the battlefields just after the Rising, but I did not begrudge him his good fortune. I would not trade rising on those battlefields for all the nightsabers in Azeroth._

_With a sigh I turned to go, following the steep wooded track further under cover, but Ranken did not follow me soundlessly as he should have. Instead an arrow twanged past my ear and I whirled in time to see him lower his bow, still facing the direction the night elf on the saber had gone._

_"What are you-"_

_"There you are then. Consider it a gift from me."_

_I looked. The night elf had changed course, weaving in and out of the trees. Ranken's first arrow had gone wide, as an accurate shot was impossible in this thick stand of evergreens. His second flew much closer though, and the night elf altered direction accordingly, now rumbling closer and closer to us. My hair stood on end as I looked from Ranken to the thundering nightsaber, but he seemed content now that he had drawn the elf's attention and faded into the shadow of a large spruce, leaving me in the open. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of that, but then the night elf was upon me, fire blossoming from his fingertips as he leapt off the saddle. I dodged the stream of flame easily and danced aside, but his second volley of arcane energy was much more accurate, it grazed my arm where the space yawned between spaulder and bracer. His intent was clear, and I was angry, even more so when his hood slipped and I caught a glimpse of his eyes. He was _endhi_, like me, and yet here he came, trying to kill me! I flung my own hood back to give him a good look at my face as I plunged the dagger into his heart, and the shock in his eyes echoed through my thoughts for many days to come. I stood over the prone form, panting, as my thoughts began to catch up to what had just happened. But then Ranken's hand was on mine and he handed me the reins of the nightsaber. _

_"Nicely done, darling. Enjoy your spoils."_

_I took them them and mounted automatically, and we left the mage in the dust underneath the trees, but the pain in my arm seared through for weeks afterward..._

_The couriers suspected nothing, plodding their way slowly through the Plaguemist Ravine on their sturdy rams, their minds full of the warmth and welcome of Aerie Peak, only three days ride southwest. The Hinterlands were nothing compared to the plaguelands from whence they had come, and the tall stands of firs seemed to welcome them home. But then, they could not know what the trees concealed. There were only two rogues, and three couriers, but I knew my own strength, and that of the blood elf beside me, and the lot below would be no match. If all went well, I wouldn't have to lift a finger. Ranken stood beside me, tall and strong, dependable as the rock in whose shadow we hid. I leaned out slightly to check the distance on our targets and his arm caught me about the waist and pulled me back undercover._

_"Careful now, Jal. Don't want to give away our position."_

_I glared at him out of habit, though I knew very well that he wasn't patronizing me. He knew my ability well enough, but that never stopped him from taking any excuse he could get to slip his arms around me. I think it must have reassured him in a way, to know we'd never be parted. Predictably enough he came in for a kiss at this point, but I pulled away._

_"We're working, smart stuff. Time enough after."_

_He gave me a cocky grin and let me go, then unstrapped his bow and strung it swiftly as I did the same with mine. Then, raising them in perfect unison, we aimed at the two couriers in the back. The arrows flew true and the two dwarves fell. The third caught this out of the corner of his eye and raised a horn to his lips and spurred his ram to a run, but we were already moving. Ranken's second arrow, hastily shot, struck the flank of the mount. It bleated and fell to its knees, throwing the courier. I was there before he could attempt to rise, my knife at his throat._

_"Don't move."_

_Ranken was coming lazily down the slope now, keeping a nonchalant watch on the road. The dwarf looked up at me with disdain in his eyes. I questioned him, but he refused to spill. This was expected. I used force, but he remained firm. And then I reached the limit of what I thought permissible, and he had still not talked. Then Ranken shouldered me aside and knelt by the dwarf, brandishing his knife. The blade glittered with poison and he scratched the tip down the courier's face without ceremony, calmly repeating my question. The dwarf screamed in pain, but Ranken did not stop. Eventually the answer we wanted was ours, and he dispatched the shrieking dwarf quickly. I stood there numb, still attempting to work through what had just happened. He turned and offered me a hand up, and I responded automatically, thinking not to give my thoughts away._

_"We were supposed to do it quietly."_

_"You miss the point. We got it done."_

_He was right. Now when he leaned in for a kiss, I gave it to him, for getting the job done, and for doing what I could not. The pain in the dwarf's eyes I tried to forget but I think it followed me from that day on…_

_"You can't!" I screamed in frustration, but the mage's face was smug. I gave it up for loss and stormed out of the chamber, the eyes of the other guild masters following me in consternation. They should have known by now that Magus Worderly would never agree with anything I said, with any suggestion I made. He seemed to have taken an immediate disliking to me. I stumbled through the dark, pushing against stone in blind rage, until a hand caught mine and arms folded me into a tight embrace and I stood trembling while Ranken muttered plans for the mage's imminent demise in my ear until Gether came to tell us the meeting was over and that Worderly had been overruled…_

_His breath was warm on my neck as he buckled on the last of my armor and ran a hand down my arm, whispering for me to take care and come back to him safely…_

_They came in, three abreast, the two on the outside supporting Jansen, who appeared to have lost enough to blood to have difficulty remaining conscious. The one on the left I knew, he was one of Shadowshield, but the one on the right was a new face, and his eyes leapt immediately to mine and held them. They were brilliant, those blazing green _endhi_ eyes, and they haunted my dreams ever since. Even now…when the dreams are more like nightmares…_

_I held him and wept and despite my love the dagger struck-_

Dawnwaker woke with a gasp, sitting up and clutching her side instinctively, shaking her head in an attempt to rid it of the images. Ranken Burnbright was gone, long gone, and had no right to invade her mind now, not when so much needed doing. She had mourned him on the way back to Undercity and then dried her tears before entering the gates, determined not to bear him with her. Still, she gritted her teeth and the hand at her side spasmed as she bent her will to banishing the memories back to the darkest recesses of her mind. No more sleep for her today, lest the dreams try to force their way back in.

"Does it still hurt that badly?"

She jumped as her head whipped around to the chair at the side of the bed. Instead of Anna, the night elf druid sat there, relaxed, arms folded, and eyeing her with a curiously inscrutable expression. She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out as her mind tried to unravel what he had asked. _Yes_, would have been her immediate answer, but a moment's thought reminded her that he must mean the wound that had festered for so long and she stumbled over her words in her haste to answer and cover up the long pause.

"N-no. It's fine. It, ah, was gone, after you…after you brought me back."

Tariq's brow furrowed at this and he leaned forward, uncrossing his arms. "May I see?" He spoke eagerly underneath the thin veneer of concern, in the voice of a boy who wanted to know if an experiment had succeeded. She obliged him, pulling up her shirt just far enough to reveal the clear skin where the wound had crawled angrily only ten days ago. He reached out and touched her with the very tips of his fingers, as if to reassure himself that what he saw was no trick.

"And no pain?"

To tell him the truth would be to reveal more than she cared to. "None," she answered, letting her shirt fall back down and leaning away from him slightly. It was one thing to let a healer check her wounds, a touch like that was quite another. He got the message quickly enough and leaned back in his chair.

"So you think the curse is gone completely."

She dragged her mind back to the more pressing issues at hand and searched herself for any hint of the phantom pain, any hint of broken bones. But her nerves told her that she was in excellent health, if a little stiff, and she nodded.

"Your cure seems to have worked."

"Good." He stood up abruptly. "I'll be going then."

"Going?" Her voice rose in pitch without intention, but the mere idea of him heading off after the guilds without her reminded her Menethil Harbor in a nasty way. The look he gave her was not reassuring, even if his words were meant to be.

"I'm heading out tonight. I'll meet you in the forest tomorrow."

She threw back the blankets and made as if to stand up. "I'll just come with you now."

"No." He planted two firm hands on her shoulders and forced her back down. "You still need rest. And we have a plan, which dictates I leave now, and you leave later."

"And no one thought to ask me how I felt about it?" Her voice was rising even higher now, and was probably carrying well beyond the walls, but she didn't care. "You've assuaged your guilt and healed me, and now you've got a fool proof plan to leave me behind? Well, let's just see if I ever let you out of my sight again, Tariquelan Eventide! And give that back to me!" She swung her feet over the side of the bed once more and jabbed a finger at the chain just visible around his neck. He frowned and fingered it, then drew it up over his head. The deep red gem swung heavy in the golden bracket as he held it out to her, and she snatched it back quickly, running a finger over it as if to check for damage. So intent was she on the amulet that she didn't notice when he sat down beside her and sighed heavily.

"Do you trust me, Jalyria?"

Her fingers stilled on the red stone as her jaw stiffened. The first words to rise to her lips were accusatory, but the gentle tone he used gave her pause and calmed her down enough to give her a reason to bite the angry response off and think before she spoke. She didn't want to trust him, especially not with the dream-memories so fresh in her mind, but she was a logical person, and the facts loomed before her, insisting on being noticed. Did she trust him with her life? His actions in the Burning Steppes made that answer very easy. Did she trust him with the lives of her guild, with the lives of all the _endhi_? She had seen the way he cared for his own people, and he had kept the amulet safe. So the answer was yes there as well. But lives were one thing, and hearts and minds were another. They could also wait for another day, lives were enough for now.

"Here." She handed the amulet back to him, lowering the chain carefully back into his open palm. "You had better hold onto that, at least until we're out of the city."

He closed his fingers over it and stared at her moment while she tried to avoid his eyes as best she could.

"What is this, Jal? Why is it so important?"

"It's our trump card," she said dully. "Our get-out-jail-free, last ditch all-hope-is-lost secret weapon. But we have to get it to the Dark Portal. I don't think it will work anywhere else."

"Is this…our way home?"

The hope in his voice pained her. "No. But it may ensure we live a little longer here than we are likely too at the moment."

He stared at her a moment longer, then drew the chain back over his head and let the gem fall beneath his shirt.

"I'll take care of it."

"I know you will."

He stood to go but she spoke before he could reach the door.

"And do you trust me, Tariq?"

He paused, the muscles in his back tensing noticeably, and she felt an unexpected disappointment course through her. His silence was expected, for what had she done to earn his trust? Certainly she had raced to Lakeshire to save his life, but that seemed small in the face of everything he'd done for her. She had asked the question with no clear intention, and she was startled to realized that she had wanted a yes, that she was not satisfied with anything else. But what could she possibly do? Her faults and crimes seemed too large to overcome, it was her very nature she would have to change to deserve his trust, and she might as well uproot the world tree as try to tear out her own core. For the first time she was ashamed without reservation of the qualities that made her such a good leader and fighter, her unyielding determination and cold logic that allowed her to take lives without regard. No, disappointed as she was, it was good for him not to trust her, and she said so.

"You are wise to be careful, but I must warn you to be more careful still. Destruction follows me wherever I go. You should have an idea about what you're getting into before committing to it."

He turned then, and she could almost hear his responses in her own mind, a rebuke that she would even think to suggest he abandon his guild, that he should stay in the city while they were massacred. But instead his eyes fixed on hers with an odd expression and he said something she did not understand.

"I am not wise, Jalyria. I know exactly what I'm getting into, and like a fool I continue to walk straight for it." He appeared to want to add something more, but after a moment he turned abruptly and left the room, leaving Dawnwaker feeling quite bereft and more lost than ever in this hostile city in the midst of a hostile land.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling a few inches above the floor and her eyes fixed unfocused on the wooden beams against which the door swung. The light streaming in from the window was the dull gold of late afternoon, and she thought absently that she must have slept nearly all day. That didn't matter much to her; her thoughts were chasing each other in such rapid circles that after a little bit she thought she ought to lie down again before she made herself dizzy. But sleep would not come now, and though she was grateful for no more dreams, some dark oblivion would have been nice to shield her mind from the confusion it found itself in.

Eventually the door opened again and Anna entered, carrying a tray of something that steamed. For the first time Dawnwaker realized how hungry she was, and she took the food eagerly as the priestess lowered herself into the empty chair.

"Sitting up now, are we?"

Dawnwaker didn't respond, as her mouth was full of stew. Anna regarded her with raised eyebrows for a moment, then sighed and sat back in her chair.

"I don't know how Tariq's done it. You ought to be recovering several days at least, but you seem good as new."

The rogue shrugged. The little she knew of healing was all to do with basic first aid and bandages, and she had never given thought to understanding something so far from her abilities as the complexities of healing talents. Still, Anna seemed quite perplexed by the results of Tariq's cure. It might be worth asking about whenever she saw him again. After carefully finishing up the last few drops of broth and cleaning out the inside of the bowl she reached for an orange and began peeling it slowly.

"So what is this plan Tariq hinted at?"

"He didn't tell you?"

Dawnwaker shifted uneasily and reached behind her to adjust one of the pillows. "I wasn't exactly in an inquisitory mood earlier." Her mind went back to before that particular day in the Burning Steppes and she grimaced. "Actually, that was the first civil conversation we've had in a while. There was no reason to push it."

Anna's eyes crinkled. "You mean you've been fighting?"

"I mean we've had our disagreements. Being Horde and Alliance will do that."

"Mmm."

She looked at the priestess sharply, but the older woman wasn't giving anything away. She merely smiled and answered the original question.

"Tariq left tonight to avoid suspicion. He's been watched closely ever since his return, and we thought it best if he left as separately and alone as possible. Now to get _you_ out, that's the tricky bit. But Jon-that's the rogue you met last night-he's come up with something quite clever. Tomorrow morning, two guards will escort one prisoner out into the forest to be executed. Since you and Jon are about the same size, you'll wear his armor. Erik-he's the hunter-will be the other guard, and Jon will play the prisoner. You will rendezvous with Tariq in the forest, where you will give Jon back his armor, and the two of them will return to the city as guards and you and Tariq can be on your way with Stormwind none the wiser."

Dawnwaker considered this in silence. The plan did have merit, and would probably work better than attempting to sneak out on her own.

"What about supplies?"

"Tariq is taking all you need with him tonight."

That took care of that then. But there was one other thing. "And the men watching this house?"

"Jon and Erik are leaving on errands in the morning. Apparently they aren't usually followed. Jon suggested you use your "stealthy talents" to exit via a window and join them where they've stashed the armor and horses."

She snorted. "Didn't think that part out quite as well as the rest did they?"

"He's a rogue, you're a rogue. I think he thought you could handle it."

Dawnwaker sighed and used a fingernail to squeeze a seed out of the slice of orange before popping it into her mouth. "I can." She shook her head. "I'm so tired Anna."

"Tariq said that would pass."

"This…recovery, or whatever, yes, I'm sure it will. But the journey is far from finished."

"It will be over soon enough."

But the blood elf only shook her head and turned her gaze back to the window. The priestess could have no idea of the nature of the burden she had chosen for herself, or of its duration. But still, the older woman had an aura about her that seemed to encourage trust, and weary as she was Dawnwaker felt a need to confide even a small part of her fears in someone. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If there was a way to send everyone else home, but you had to remain in Azeroth, would you do it?"

Only silence answered her, and when she turned back from the window she found Anna regarding her with a furrowed brow.

"That's a difficult one, Jalyria." The priestess pursed her lips for a few moments more, then continued in a slow, measured voice. "I long to go back to our world, as does every _endhi_, or nearly so. I have a family there, children, who are wondering what became of their mother. But I have children here too, now, and people who rely on me. If I had such a way to send them home, how could I not? And yet…I don't know if I have the strength for such a task, to remain behind in this world, alone, the last of my kind. But even now my memories of our world fade, day by day, so perhaps it would grow easier with time."

"What if…what if this task required you to do things, horrible things? Things for which you would become reviled by the very people you sought to help?"

Anna's gaze was piercing now, as if she was trying to look all the way down into the rogue's most private thoughts. "How could you be _reviled_ by the very people you are sending home?"

Dawnwaker sighed and popped the last slice of orange into her mouth and lay back against the pillows. "There are ways, Anna. There are always ways."

The priestess frowned, but began gathering up the remnants of the meal. "Try and sleep tonight. You'll need all your strength for the day ahead."

Dawnwaker did not answer, and Anna left her without another word. Not until long after she was gone did the rogue think guiltily that she ought to have said goodbye to the woman, just in case she did not see her again, but now it was too late. Now her only responsibility was to wait patiently for morning and rest…

_I held him and wept and despite my love the dagger struck, and all I felt from then on was pain, only pain._


	22. The Escape

Dawnwaker slept fitfully that night, waking with a start at the end of every dream. They repeated themselves over and over, until she was in tears each time her eyes opened to the darkness, and by the time the black outside the window began to turn gray the tears were purely of anger, the grief and fear having been chased out by the fury. Certainly she had had her share of nightmares in the days following Ranken's death, and on the journey, but they were not the same as this torture. Now she seemed to feel a new sense, one of guilt, and that only fueled her anger all the more. As the sky grew gradually lighter she finally abandoned her attempts to rest and threw the blankets back to stand and pace the room. The sooner she could get out of here and on the road again the better. This entire city was a prison to her, and though this was a place of safety she felt trapped. Perhaps once she had a goal to move towards again the dreams would fade. There were much more important things happening now than the issues of her subconscious. But despite her resolve, her thoughts began churning once again, all the things she had come through, all the faces she'd seen, rushing 'round and 'round and 'round. In her frustration she reached out and struck one of the banners that hung from the wall. It felt good, and she realized she had almost forgotten what a healthy body felt like. Now she stretched each arm, flexed every finger and toe, and faced the wall once more before exploding into a dizzying series of twists and turns that somehow landed blows on the center of the banner in rapid succession. Her muscles seemed to respond to the exercise with glee, glad to be moving after such disuse, and she felt a sudden burst of gratitude to Tariq for not only cleansing her of the curse, but also repairing all the peripheral damage it had done as well. The memory of harsh words spoke jolted her then and she brought her exercises to a halt as more guilt creeped in. Only when she was still did she notice that something was different with the room, and she whirled to find the human rogue leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows raised. He returned her automatic glare with a grin and brought his hands up to clap softly.

"Tariq was right."

She raised her own eyebrows then, as if to ask for an explanation. The rogue was quick to reply.

"He said it was like watching a dancer. I must say, you don't disappoint."

Now her glare was intentional. She moved to straighten the banner, which her blows had rendered a bit askew, and then turned back to the intruder. "And what do you want at this hour?"

He pushed himself off the door, his expression a little more serious, but not much so. "It's time to go. If you want to make the gate by sunrise."

She nodded curtly. "Anna mentioned rendezvousing at a stable somewhere?"

"Yes, down in Old Town. You know the place?"

She frowned. It was a bit close to SI:7 for her, but the way she felt now sneaking around wouldn't be much of a problem. "Yes. When should I go?"

He shrugged. "Whenever you're ready." And with another grin she didn't much care for he was out the door. She wasted no time glaring after him and went to the window instead, opening the paned framework and poking her head out into the darkness, gauging all of her options. The pre-morning half light was excellent for slipping around unseen, and she would do well to make use of it before the sun dispersed the shadows. Fortunately her room was opposite the side of the house where she had entered; the neighboring building had a one-story wing that faced her, and if she was careful she might be able to jump the distance to its roof. Carefully she assessed the risks, the tiles still slick from last night's rain, and the awkward angle from the window. If it didn't work she might break an ankle. On second thought…twisting around, she turned to look up at the wall from which her window opened. The guild house was large and extended two more stories into the air, putting its roof several feet above the Park's wall at its back. It was made of loosely fitted stone and covered in windows, and even as she surveyed it, Dawnwaker thought she could see a path up. And if she could make it to the wall…

Ducking back inside she located her torn cloak hanging on the back of the door and quickly secured the hood around her tell-tale ears, plunging her eyes into shadow. That would have to do until she reached the stable and could get into the armor Anna had mentioned. Her boots seemed to have vanished during the night, and she felt a twinge of worry, then realized that they wouldn't have matched the armor disguise anyway and Tariq had probably taken them the night before. The loss certainly wouldn't hinder her now; bare feet were much better for the sort of climbing she was about to do. So other than the cloak there was nothing to take with her. For a brief moment the anxiety returned, then it drained away like the leftover rain running through the gutters overhead. Tariq had proved his attention to detail back at Thelsamar, and there was no reason to think he would not have been just as thorough in assembling supplies now. The relief she felt at the thought was refreshing, more so than usual having come after so many weeks of constant wariness, and she accepted the thought simply and without surprise at herself. Of course she trusted Tariq, he had done too much on her behalf for her to think any less of him. With this knowledge feeding her new confidence, she moved back to the window and crouched on the narrow sill, then eased herself up until she found a handhold on the top edge of the window frame and the stones nearest. From there it was merely a matter of pulling herself up the wall, inch by inch, making what use of the other windows she could. It was a difficult task, but she was motivated by the rapid lightening of the sky and actually welcomed the physical challenge. For the first time in a long while her muscles were up to the job, and that in itself was enough to put the strain out of her mind. The gray of the sky in the east had just given way to a faint red hue by the time she pulled herself over the parapet and crouched there, watching and listening for any patrolling guards. Fortunately she was alone; apparently this small section of interior wall did not rate the same level of caution as the larger exterior bulwark. A thought of following the wall and escaping that way flashed through her mind, but just as quickly she remembered all she knew of Stormwind before the Rising: the sea on one side, steep hills and cliffs on all the others. Even if she could get over the main wall she would still find herself trapped. No, the best way out was through the main gate, following her new acquaintance's plan. And so she turned resolutely from the tantalizing view of the outermost wall and looked inward to a city that was just waking.

Darkness broken by hundreds of torches stretched before her, firelight reflecting on the surface of canals, and cobblestones worn smooth by the passage of thousands of feet. Here and there a door slammed, and with a grimace she imagined storekeepers already up before the sun, busy preparing their wares for the day, not knowing that they stood between a very impatient Horde rogue and her goal. Ah, but patience was needed now more than ever. With a deep breath she turned to run down the wall as far as it would take her, then vanished into the dark city below.

* * *

Thirty minutes later Dawnwaker slipped into the shadows behind the stables in the Old Town, carefully keeping out of sight of the stablehands who were working far too industriously for this hour in the morning. Here was the second flaw in the rogue Jon's plan, she thought: he had said stables, but had given her no way to find them once she got here. With a quiet snort of derision she resigned herself to look for them herself, and several close calls later she found them in one of the tack rooms.

"Well it's about time."

She shot the rogue a dirty look and turned to greet the hunter instead. Erik was already in full armor, save for helm and gauntlets, and appeared even more massive than she remembered. But as he produced a shiny set of plate armor from a sack and began handing her pieces something nagged at the back of her mind. A moment more and she had it.

"You're a hunter."

"Yes."

"So you would wear mail, certainly, but plate? How did you come by this?"

The big man shrugged, a motion that produced a rattling sound from his armor. "The armor belongs to the guild in general. When we first formed up we pooled anything that could be useful in the future, like Imperial plate sets. Jon and I couldn't wear them in the game, but that doesn't mean we can't use them here." He lifted his arms as if holding an imaginary bow. "Doesn't work too well in the normal course of my duties, but for a disguise, its unbeatable." He lowered his arms and tossed her a heavy cuirass. "In you go."

She grimaced but did as she was told. The armor was awkward, and required the help of both men to don in any timely fashion. Once the last piece had been buckled on and strapped down she felt as if she could barely move, not just because the unyielding metal limited her range of motion, but also because it was _heavy_. Her normal leathers weren't exactly featherweight, but they might as well have been compared to this. The situation only worsened when Jon secured a scabbard and sword to the belt and then strapped a shield to her back.

"Right then!" The rogue stepped back and Dawnwaker noticed for the first time that he was dressed in the nondescript rags typical of prisoners. He gave her and Erik a nod of approval and held out his wrists. "Take me to my doom, foul jailers!"

"Lower your voice." Erik shook his head and tossed a coil of rope to Dawnwaker, and she was gratified to hear the same annoyance in his voice that was likely to appear in hers. "Truss him up. I'll get the horses."

That was easier said than done. In the end she had to remove the gauntlets in order to get a decent knot, and then she might have pulled the rope a little too tight. Unfortunately the satisfaction of seeing the rakish grin on the other rogue's face disappear as the blood to his hands was cut off was short lived. He reminded her that he needed the use of his fingers if he was to make the return journey convincing, so she loosened the knots, but not by much. Now it was his turn to frown, and her turn to smile. He was grumbling by the time Erik returned, but the hunter showed him no sympathy. Dawnwaker decided she liked him.

"The way's clear." He double checked Jon's restraints, then helped Dawnwaker secure her gauntlets again. "We should go now."

"Did you ask Anna if our little plan works?"

Dawnwaker glanced sharply at the rogue; his tone had been a mixture of sarcasm and anxiety. The hunter's expression was invisible beneath his helm, but his tone carried no similar ambiguity, it was sharp and final.

"No. You know that usually does more harm than good."

"Still be nice to know," Jon muttered.

"What about Anna?"

Both men looked at her, Jon answered.

"She can see the future."

"_What?"_

Erik grunted. "She was a beta tester before the Rising. Now she sometimes gets glimpses and, ah, impressions of things that haven't happened yet. She usually seems to get them right, though she's misread more than one situation in the past."

Dawnwaker just stared at him. She had not heard of such a thing in her entire time in Azeroth, but then she hadn't met any beta testers before now. But she would have no time to process this latest bit of information, for the two men were already exiting the tack room. She followed them quickly.

This area of the stable was empty for the moment, save for two large dapple gray horses who stood chomping at their bits, obviously eager to be off. Mounting was no easy task, even with the help of both men. Though the armor was designed to allow her joints to bend, they could not bend very far. By the time she settled into the saddle her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and she was glad for the visored helm. She was not accustomed to appearing clumsy, and she hated the armor more with every moment. It was a small comfort to see Erik having almost as much trouble mounting his horse, and she focused on securing her end of Jon's rope to the pommel of her saddle. Then, with their prisoner walking between them, the two guards left the stables and began the slow trek to the main gates of Stormwind.

The short trip was definitely one of the worst Dawnwaker had ever experienced, in fact she had trouble thinking of anywhere else she would rather not be. Even the Searing Gorge and the Burning Steppes would have been preferable. Despite the all-encasing shell of armor she felt almost naked riding through the main thoroughfares of the Alliance city in the half-light of early morning. Despite the hour the cobblestone streets were already bustling, and she struggled not to wince as human after human glanced up at her and then went on their way. The armor helped in that it kept her straight and stiff as a proper guard should ride, but sitting in the saddle made the weight no less, and one of the straps beneath her right arm was starting to pinch badly. She tried to shift her arm surreptitiously and accidentally brushed the hilts of her sword, then allowed herself a bit of amusement at the carelessness of these Alliance _endhi_ to give her a weapon. The amusement faded quickly as she realized that she would do well to even lay hold of the grip in these gauntlets, much less swing the heavy blade while still wearing all of this armor. No acrobatics and quick strikes, no sneaking up in the shadows… A tall mage in brightly colored robes gave her a glance as he passed her, a baker's apprentice and a seamstress hurrying in the opposite direction did not even appear to see her. A guard patrolling along the canal gave them a brief salute; she and Erik responded in kind. By the time they reached the causeway to the main gates every hair on the back of her neck was standing up, and she felt as if her blood had turned to ice. Still, they went over the long expanse without incident, and for a moment it seemed they would actually get away clean, but at the gates, with the trees of Elwynn Forest in sight, a guard stepped before them with his hand raised. Dawnwaker immediately assumed a posture of attentiveness to the prisoner and indifference to the guards, at least so far as such things were visible through a suit of armor. Fortunately the man addressed Erik, who responded with such practice that it was immediately evident this was not his first masquerade as a guard. Jon was quickly searched and then they were waved through, but Dawnwaker saved her exhale of relief until they were a ways down the road.

The looming walls behind them shrank with agonizing slowness, and they were only partially obscured by trees when Erik turned them from the road and led them off into the forest. For a long while they threaded their way between the trees, and it was well that Jon was not a real prisoner to need watching, for Dawnwaker was forced to focus on avoiding low-hanging branches without being able to duck her head. The sooner she could get out of this blasted armor the better. At last they halted before a particularly gnarled looking oak and Erik spoke for the first time since leaving the city, though his voice was so soft she had trouble hearing him through the helm and had to ask him to repeat himself.

"I said, there are farms a few miles that way. People usually don't come this deep into the woods, but you never know, so we'll stay like this until Tariq shows up. The graveyard where prisoners are usually executed is much farther down the road, near Goldshire, so we have a bit of time before the guards at the gate will wonder."

She nodded her understanding and began to look around as much as the helm would let her, and Jon began to pick idly at the rope around his wrists until Erik hissed at him to stop. An hour passed, and the tension grew with the length of time, so much so that when the druid finally did make his appearance all three of them jumped, and the hunter drew his sword.

"Put that away, Erik, we all know you're no good with it."

A low chuckle came from the hunter's helm and the sword was sheathed. "You had us worried there for a minute."

"What took you so long?" Jon hissed, holding out his bound hands so that Tariq could free them. Erik loosened the rope on his saddle and tossed it to the ground, but made no attempt to dismount. Dawnwaker didn't blame him, and she was glad the others were focused on Jon as she slid from the back of her own horse, landing with a loud clank. There was simply no way to be graceful in this armor, and she immediately set to work getting the gauntlets off.

"Here, let me." Jon reached for the straps under her pauldrons, but was abruptly shouldered aside by a much taller figure.

"Look to your horse," Tariq grunted, and she felt some of the weight lift off, and the pain under her right arm went with it. The druid started tossing bits of armor to the other rogue as they got her free of it, and now she saw that Erik had dismounted and was helping Jon into it. The hunter's voice was deep, but he spoke softly.

"Hurry now. It doesn't take this long to execute one prisoner."

"What if I ran?" Jon asked him indignantly. "What if I slipped the rope and got your sword and you had to chase me and-" Erik cut him off with a cuff to the back of his head and the rogue gave him a hurt expression. The hunter allotted him a smirk before slamming the breastplate to his chest, almost knocking him over.

"Oof! Hey, you're making me look bad in front the lady-ow!"

Dawnwaker didn't look to see what Erik had done to him now, she was too busy getting the last bits of armor off to pay much attention to the antics of the two men. Instead a klaxon seemed to blare inside her head, crying a warning that they had to move, and move now. Erik was right, an execution didn't take this long. But soon enough Jon was standing encased in a full suit of armor and she was left with the thin shirt and pants from the day before. Strangely she felt neither more nor less exposed than she had in the armor. She glanced furtively at Tariq, hoping desperately that he had been able to retain her own leathers from Lakeshire, but he was busy helping the two men back onto their horses, and she would find out soon enough. Then all was ready and Jon gave her a jaunty salute, which she returned distractedly. Erik clearly regarded the situation with a little more solemnity.

"All speed to you, Jalryia Dawnwaker. And you, Tariq."

They turned to go and she spoke quickly. "Thank you, thank you both." Words of gratitude were not her strong suit, so she left it at that and they nodded, faces unreadable beneath the helms. Tariq did not wait for them to disappear between the trees; he headed off in the opposite direction at a brisk pace, and Dawnwaker had to jog quickly to catch up with him. Even once she was alongside him it was not easy to match his long strides, and she stubbed her bare toes on protruding roots and rocks several times. He hadn't said a word to her so far and the friendly thoughts that had filled her mind hours earlier were rapidly starting to fade. Even when they had openly acknowledged each other as enemies he hadn't been so stubbornly distant. A particularly large root jutted out of the ground and caught her foot; she would have fallen if not for her exceptional balance. As it was, she barely managed to catch herself against the tree to which the offending root belonged, but Tariq did not look back, or even slow down. Something had to be wrong.

"Why the hurry?"

Still he did not acknowledge her. Angrily she reached out and caught his arm, managing to spin the larger elf around to face her.

"Look at me! Blast it Tariq, what's wrong with you?"

His look of astonishment quickly cleared and he moved his arm in an attempt to shake her off. She stubbornly gripped it tighter and matched him glare for glare. He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Our people are in danger of death and you ask me why the hurry?"

"Allow me to rephrase. Why the reckless, headlong dash through the thick of the forest? And why aren't you speaking to me?"

"I am speaking to you. And keep your voice down, there are farms about."

"We both know noise doesn't carry well through a forest." But she spoke lower when she said this. He matched her new tone.

"I'm hurrying because just this morning one of the farmers told me of rumors that an army had been spotted mustering near Ridgepoint Tower."

She inadvertently gripped his arm tighter. "You mean…"

"We assumed Tereth's army was in the city, but it's not. If he left to join them soon after he interrogated you, they'll be well on their way to Darkshire. Further, if he went by gryphon."

"More than a week ahead of us." She dropped her hand, staring at the ground now and unconsciously chewing on her lip.

Tariq nodded and turned to go the moment she released him, but she did not immediately follow.

"Don't do that."

He turned, a quizzical look on his face. "Do what?"

"Avoid the question. You seem different. Something else is wrong, what is it?"

"Jalyria, the army moves as we stand still." He gestured to the wood before them. "We have to go."

She held up a hand. "They are a large army and we are two, well-rested and fleet. A few moments will not make a difference."

The druid turned to face her fully then, and spread his arms wide. "What do you want me to say?"

And suddenly she realized she had no answer to that question. He seemed to know that too, for he lowered his arms and stalked off into the trees without waiting for her response. With a muttered curse she moved off after him, and he did seem to have slowed his pace a little bit. That was well, for her bare feet were growing sore, and-

"OW!"

He turned abruptly several yards ahead, but this time she waved him off as she leaned over to dig the long thorn out of the arch of her left foot. "Your forest is not as friendly as it looks from a distance, night elf."

He winced, not at her wound, she thought, but that she had reverted to calling him night elf again. Well, it served him right. If he wasn't going to behave like the Tariq she knew, then he didn't deserve to be called by that name. The thorn came free quickly, but it was followed by a blossom of blood that grew larger with every moment. Stifling another curse, she reached for the hem of her shirt to tear a bit off but was stopped by Tariq's hand on hers. He shook his head and flicked his fingers toward her foot…and just like that the bleeding and the sting stopped, replaced by smooth, unmarked skin. She looked up at him in astonishment, still balanced on one foot.

"How did you do that?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm a healer."

Well she certainly knew that. What she also knew was that a typical healer's response to that sort of wound would have been to infuse it with a bit of magic-y mumbo jumbo and bind it for ten minutes or so. _Then_ it ought to look like her foot did now. But instead it had healed instantaneously. She opened her mouth to question the druid further, but he had already moved on ahead again, leaving her with yet another unanswered question hanging in her open mouth. She snapped it shut and headed off after him. Perhaps this was his way of getting back at her for keeping so many secrets from him. If so she had to admit it served her right. But that made it no less frustrating, and not for the first time she felt like smacking him-

"OW! Sun's fire-!"

Once again she found herself hopping on one foot, looking this time at two thorns that had decided to leave their stalk and make a new home in her heel and toe. Tariq heard and retraced his steps to fix the minor wounds again, and she could tell he was as annoyed at her as she was at him.

"Can't you watch where you put your feet?"

She gave him a frosty look and, with an elaborate flourish, motioned at the forest floor. It was crisscrossed with with the usual amount of roots and rocks, but this part in particular seemed to have attracted the small thorny vine that wound its way back and forth between the trees among the fallen leaves. She _could_ watch where she stepped, but that would slow her down far too much, and she had no doubt Tariq in his sturdy leather boots would quickly out-distance her. He obviously came to the same conclusion, for she suddenly felt his arms beneath her and the next thing she knew he was carrying her swiftly over all the obstacles, moving through the woods as only a night elf could. Part of her immediately screamed at the indignity of being carried like someone incapable of walking, but that was immediately stifled by relief that the old Tariq had finally poked his nose out of whatever hole he had seen fit to hide himself in, and that this position afforded her much more opportunities for questions. But the moment she opened her mouth, Tariq shook his head.

"Leave me be."

It was the weariness in his voice rather than his words that stopped her from pestering him further. It also diffused her anger, and as it melted away she felt something that she had first encountered deep in the shadow land, when the voice-Tariq's voice-had called out to her in pain and for a moment her sole reason for returning to life was to make that pain end. Now as she studied his profile in the clear light of morning she saw the echo of the same pain there, though this time there was nothing so simple she could do to stop it. On second thought, perhaps there was, perhaps he had just said it himself, to leave him be. Such a thing was not easy for Dawnwaker, for she was a being of action, and to _not_ do something always seemed to be counterproductive. But here was an opportunity to show her thanks in more than just words, and so for once she put aside her automatic belligerence and remained silent. After a few moments she felt his shoulders relax beneath her arm, and she turned her attention to the forest, mostly to keep her mind from all of the nasty, spiteful thoughts that threatened to invade the moment she let her guard down. For once she had had enough arguing, and the peaceful sounds of this forest, though unfamiliar, were strangely comforting, and she felt herself closing her eyes to listen to the birdsong. She also felt an unfamiliar disappointment when Tariq stopped and let her down. However that sentiment was one that led to the confusion and bickering, so she suppressed it and concentrated on her surroundings, eyes flickering around with practiced habit.

They were on the shore of a small lake; its still waters reflected the sky and trees like a perfect mirror, though Dawnwaker was certain she could hear the faint rumbling of a distant waterfall. Of more immediate interest, however, were the two mounts stretched out on the large rocks above the water. One was a frostsaber, its white coat shining brilliantly in the sunshine. Green gemstones glittered from its gear, which consisted not only of saddle and pack harness, but also strategically placed plates of armor. Next to it lay a slightly smaller saber, of a breed Dawnwaker didn't recognize. As impressive as the frostsaber was, this was the one her eyes were drawn to. It was all black except its paws; those faded to white and ended in wicked ebony claws. Its smaller size only seemed to emphasize the muscles beneath the short fur, and while its basic tack was similar to that of the frostsaber, the armor was more intricately planned. It too was sprinkled with gemstones, only these were dark amethysts, rather than emeralds. As the two elves approached it lifted its head and regarded her with glittering eyes that betrayed its intelligence.

She would have gone straight to the mount if Tariq hadn't stopped at a pile of packs on the ground and handed her one. All thoughts fled at that, and she had to resist a most uncharacteristic urge to throw her arms around the druid in tearful thanks, for within the canvas sack was her own custom leather armor. Carefully she lifted out each piece and examined it, and her pleasure only grew upon finding that every inch had been cleaned and all the wear of the long journey had been repaired. Her missing boots were there too, and a quick examination revealed that the much-worn soles had been replaced. This armor she could don herself, for she was practiced with these straps and buckles, and when she had secured the last piece she felt more herself than she had in a long while, as if she had been missing her skin and only just now found it again. A guilty thought clawed its way to the surface: all of the Alliance _endhi_, including Tariq, had been deprived of their armor in Undercity. He had likely felt as she had until he returned to Stormwind and was able to replace his lost gear. Now she supposed he looked as he had that day, though she couldn't remember seeing him in the crowd.

"I'm sorry."

The words left her mouth before she was even aware of thinking them, and Tariq looked up in surprise from the saddlebags he was securing to the frostsaber's harness.

"What for?"

The first words had burst from her lips unchecked, but now more seemed unwilling to come. She struggled for a few moments, then spoke haltingly. "For taking your gear, your mounts. For making you a prisoner. For…torturing you. And trying to kill you."

He stared at her as if she'd just sprouted horns, then nodded jerkily. "I forgive you." But the words were spoken flatly, and he promptly returned his attention to the baggage. She stood still for a moment more, then moved to help in silence. At last the two mounts were loaded up and ready go, and Dawnwaker admitted herself impressed. Both mounts carried bedrolls, food, and water, and the rest of the supplies were divided between them so as to evenly distribute the weight. Not that there was much of that; Tariq had been wise in purchasing supplies. Dawnwaker had not fully examined everything he had bought, but there would time for that later when they made camp. There was no tent; despite the fact that it was still winter these southern regions remained stubbornly mild and they weren't heading anywhere with high winds or other extreme weather. The bedrolls were the kind that would protect against light rain, and other shelter could be found in case of a storm.

"The frostsaber's mine." Tariq gave the large cat an affectionate pat, then moved to adjust the dark mount's bridle. "And this, in case you didn't know, is a war tiger. It's yours." He held out the reins and she took them carefully in her hands.

"Mine?"

"Yes. For keeps."

She met his gaze, a question in her eyes and he shrugged. "What use does a healer have for a battle mount?" He turned and mounted his saber swiftly. "Daylight is running."

Dawnwaker looked at the mount once more, the second great cat she had received as a gift, and another pang of guilt ran through her as it blinked its large intelligent eyes, so like the eyes of her old nightsaber. Hopefully she would not be put in a position to do the same to this mount as she had to its predecessor. Carefully she pulled the cowl of her short cloak up over her ears and adjusted the mask over her nose and mouth, then mounted with a spring and turned the head of the beast to the southeast, following the bright spark that was the druid on his frostsaber. Now it was a race between them and an army, with the prize being the lives of both their guilds. Lives, and possibly something else. At that moment she realized she had forgotten to reclaim the amulet from Tariq, but she shook her head and focused on the trees ahead, content in the knowledge that she trusted him implicitly, even though he might not trust her in return. It was the guilds that were important, the guilds and the amulet. Perhaps if she focused on those things, the chaotic dance of confusing thoughts in her mind would cease. For now it was enough to avoid the trees.

* * *

Thank you so much for the feedback! It's good to know this is being read and enjoyed. My muse has been struggling a bit recently, but I will do my best to update regularly. Again, thank you!


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